Skip to main content

Full text of "The vale of Strathmore; its scenes and legends"

See other formats 


Google 


This  is  a  digital  copy  of  a  book  that  was  preserved  for  generations  on  library  shelves  before  it  was  carefully  scanned  by  Google  as  part  of  a  project 

to  make  the  world's  books  discoverable  online. 

It  has  survived  long  enough  for  the  copyright  to  expire  and  the  book  to  enter  the  public  domain.  A  public  domain  book  is  one  that  was  never  subject 

to  copyright  or  whose  legal  copyright  term  has  expired.  Whether  a  book  is  in  the  public  domain  may  vary  country  to  country.  Public  domain  books 

are  our  gateways  to  the  past,  representing  a  wealth  of  history,  culture  and  knowledge  that's  often  difficult  to  discover. 

Marks,  notations  and  other  maiginalia  present  in  the  original  volume  will  appear  in  this  file  -  a  reminder  of  this  book's  long  journey  from  the 

publisher  to  a  library  and  finally  to  you. 

Usage  guidelines 

Google  is  proud  to  partner  with  libraries  to  digitize  public  domain  materials  and  make  them  widely  accessible.  Public  domain  books  belong  to  the 
public  and  we  are  merely  their  custodians.  Nevertheless,  this  work  is  expensive,  so  in  order  to  keep  providing  tliis  resource,  we  liave  taken  steps  to 
prevent  abuse  by  commercial  parties,  including  placing  technical  restrictions  on  automated  querying. 
We  also  ask  that  you: 

+  Make  non-commercial  use  of  the  files  We  designed  Google  Book  Search  for  use  by  individuals,  and  we  request  that  you  use  these  files  for 
personal,  non-commercial  purposes. 

+  Refrain  fivm  automated  querying  Do  not  send  automated  queries  of  any  sort  to  Google's  system:  If  you  are  conducting  research  on  machine 
translation,  optical  character  recognition  or  other  areas  where  access  to  a  large  amount  of  text  is  helpful,  please  contact  us.  We  encourage  the 
use  of  public  domain  materials  for  these  purposes  and  may  be  able  to  help. 

+  Maintain  attributionTht  GoogXt  "watermark"  you  see  on  each  file  is  essential  for  in  forming  people  about  this  project  and  helping  them  find 
additional  materials  through  Google  Book  Search.  Please  do  not  remove  it. 

+  Keep  it  legal  Whatever  your  use,  remember  that  you  are  responsible  for  ensuring  that  what  you  are  doing  is  legal.  Do  not  assume  that  just 
because  we  believe  a  book  is  in  the  public  domain  for  users  in  the  United  States,  that  the  work  is  also  in  the  public  domain  for  users  in  other 
countries.  Whether  a  book  is  still  in  copyright  varies  from  country  to  country,  and  we  can't  offer  guidance  on  whether  any  specific  use  of 
any  specific  book  is  allowed.  Please  do  not  assume  that  a  book's  appearance  in  Google  Book  Search  means  it  can  be  used  in  any  manner 
anywhere  in  the  world.  Copyright  infringement  liabili^  can  be  quite  severe. 

About  Google  Book  Search 

Google's  mission  is  to  organize  the  world's  information  and  to  make  it  universally  accessible  and  useful.   Google  Book  Search  helps  readers 
discover  the  world's  books  while  helping  authors  and  publishers  reach  new  audiences.  You  can  search  through  the  full  text  of  this  book  on  the  web 

at|http: //books  .google  .com/I 


GLADSTONE  (William  Ewart),  Life  of.  by  G.  Bamett 
Smith,  wilh  fine  portraits,  3  vols.  8vo,  cloth,  pub.  at  24s.  for  1  is. 


DA 

G1^ 


THE  VALE   OF   STEATHMOKE. 


•.JS: 


VALE   OF   STEATHMOEE; 


ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 


JAMES   CABGILL   GUTHEIK, 


EDINBUEGH:  WILLIAM  PATEESON. 


"  KT  LIFE  IS  WBTTTEXf  IS  MT  BOOKS.'* 

Lott  Love, 


4 

0 


I 


I 


TO 
THE  RIQHT  HONOURABLE 

THIS  WORE 

IS,  BT  PERMISSION, 

RBSPECTFULLT  INSCRIBED 

BT 


HER  LADTSHIP'S  OBLIGED   AND   FAITHFUL  SERVANT, 


THE   AUTHOR. 


PREFACE. 


The  vast  valley  of  Strathmore  proper,  extends  from  the 
centre  of  Dumbartonshire  to  the  sea-board  of  the 
German  Ocean,  from  Redhead  to  Stonehaven.  It  com- 
prehends part  of  Stirlingshire,  all  Strathallan,  the 
greater  part  of  Stratheam,  and  all  the  Howe  of  Meams 
in  Kincardineshire. 

What  is  popularly  known  as  Strathmore,  however, 
consists  only  of  what  is  flanked  by  the  Sidlaw  Hills 
on  the  south,  and  the  braes  of  Angus  on  the  north, 
and  extends  from  Methven  in  Perthshire,  to  Brechin 
in  Forfarshire.  The  Sidlaws  is  continuous  of  the  Ochils, 
except  for  the  intervention  of  the  valley  of  the  Tay,  and 
forms  a  long  chain  of  heights  rising  in  some  parts  to  up- 
wards of  1500  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  and  ex- 
tending from  Kinnoul  Hill,  on  the  north  bank  of  the 
Tay  in  Perthshire,  to  Redhead,  a  promontory  on  the 
east  coast  of  Forfarshire,  and  to  Stonehaven  in  Kincar- 
dineshire. At  the  Hill  of  Turin,  a  short  distance  east  of 
Forfar,  the  Sidlaws  fork  into  two  lines,  one  of  which 
branches  off  through  the  vale  of  Guthrie  to  the  sea  at 
Redhead,  while  the  other  proceeds  north-eastward  to 
Brechin,  along  the  side  of  the  Howe  of  Kincardine  to 
the  sea  at  Stonehaven. 


VIU  PREFACE. 

The  Howe  of  Strathmore  is  still  mdre  circumscribed 
in  extent,  stretching  from  the  lower  part  of  the  North 
Esk  on  the  east,  to  the  western  boundary  of  the  parish 
of  Kettins  on  the  west.  From  its  northern  point  it  lies 
along  the  foot  of  the  Forfarshire  Grampians,  till  it  forms 
the  parish  of  Airlie,  and  the  Braes  of  Angus,  and  ter- 
minates at  Cargill,  forming  the  continuation  of  Strath- 
more with  Perthshire.  This  district  is  called  the  Howe 
or  Hollow  of  Angus,  and  is  thirty-three  miles  long,  and 
four  to  six  miles  broad.  ^ 

The  "  Scenes  and  Legends  "  embrace  principally  that 
part  of  Strathmore  which  stretches  from  the  sea-board  at 
Montrose  and  Redhead  on  the  east,  to  the  parishes  of 
Kettins  and  Cargill  on  the  west,  and  from  Blairgowrie 
and  Craighall  to  Feam  and  Careston  on  the  north. 
With  few  exceptions,  I  have  preferred  to  weave  the 
Legends  and  Traditions,  together  with  the  Supersti- 
tions of  the  district,  naturally  into  my  Tales  and 
Sketches,  rather  than  to  give  an  isplated  relation  of 
them  as  distinct  from  any  human  interest  with  which 
they  may  have  become  associated. 

In  all  the  real  or  mythical  scenes  we  may  visit,  I 
desire  to  take  the  reader  with  me  as  my  confidant  and 
friend,  so  that  when  our  journey  is  ended,  we  may  bid 
each  other  farewell,  with  the  mutually  cherished  wish, 
that  we  may — meet  again. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAOX 

Straihmore — Loohs  of  Feithie  and  Forfar— Village  of  Glamis — Castle 
of  Glamis — Reopening  of  the  Chapel — Ancient  Obelisks — Original 
Castle  of  Glamis — Macbeth — The  Raid  of  Ruthven — The  Lyons  of 
Strathznore,  .......  1 

CHAPTER  II. 

Kinnettles— Traditions  of  Waterkelpy — ^The  Dominie  of  Einnettles — 

The  Kerbet— The  "Ancient  Mill,"  ....  19 

CHAPTER  III. 

Brigton — Legend  of  Sir  David  Guthrie  and  the  Ladye  of  Brigton — 

In  Memoriam  :  Joaniiis  Gvthrie  ;  Anna  Dovglas,  .         27 

CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Romance  of  Association — The  Hill  of  Denoon — Legend  of  the 
First  Castle  of  Glamis — Compact  between  the  Fairies  and  the  Evil 
Spirits — ^The  Demons  Demolish  the  Castle,  ...         30 

CHAPTER  V. 

Legend  of  the  First  Lyon  of  Glamis— Robert  II.— The  Royal  Pages— 
Lttdye  Jean— The  Plot— The  Knight  of  France— Unfolding  of  the 
Plot — ^The  King's  Resolution — Nuptials  of  Ladye  Jean  and  Sir 
John  de  Lyon — Discovery  of  the  Plot — The  Lindsay's  Threat — 
BalhiU  Moss— Death  of  Lyon,         .....         88 

CHAPTER  VT. 

Legend  of  the  Murder  of  Malcolm  II. — The  King  on  his  way  to  the 
Castle  of  Glamis — ^His  Assassination  in  the  Wood  of  Thornton — 
Disappearance  of  the  Lord  of  Glands — Drowning  of  the  Murderers 
in  the  Loch  of  Forfar— The  *'  Minstrel's  Lament  "—King  Maloohn's 
Grayeetone — Mysterious  Death  of  Ladye  Glands,  .  •         54 


X  CONTENTS. 

.CHAPTER  VII. 

Legend  of  the  Secret  Chamber—  The  Hunt — The  Reyel— Doom  of  Earl 
Beardie  and  his  boon  Companions  till  the  Great  Judgment  Day — 
Secret  Boom  Undiscovered,  .  .  .  .  .       d2 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Legend  of  the  Grove— The  Hunter  Hill— Edmund  GrsBme— The  False 

Lover—Her  Doom,  ......         66 

I 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Legend  of  Ladye  Glamis  burned  on  the  Castle  Hill  of  Edinburgh— The 

Trial— The  Sentence— The  Ezeoution,        ....         72 

CHAPTER  X. 

The   Forester^s   Daughter — First   Love — Spring — Illness  of   Eliza — 

Summer — Eliza's  Dream— Autxmm — Eliza's  Death,  .  .         80 

CHAPTER  XL 

Will  o'  the  Wisp— The  Farmer  of  Foflfarty— His  absence  at  Market- 
Arrival  Home — The  Dominie — ^The  Farmer's  accoimt  of  his  En- 
counters with  the  **  Spunkies  "  in  the  Moss — "  My  Bonnie  Wee 
Wifie  " — The  Dominie's  Disappearance  in  the  Kerbet — The  Result,     100 

CHAPTER  XIL 

The  Village  Club,  1880— The  Dominie— The  Laird— The  Student— The 
MiUer— The  Smith-Celebration  of  Auld  Yule— "The  Bonnie 
Howe  o'  Sweet  Strathmore "  -"  The  Swift  Flowing  Kerbet  "— 
"  Glamis'  Bonnie  Bumie  "— "My  Ain  Bonnie  Dean  "—"The  Days  o' 
Langsyne  " — When  will  These  Five  Meet  Again  ?  .  .118 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

St  Orland's  Stone — Traditions  connected  therewith — The  Butler's 
Daughter— Her  Coquetry  and  its  Reward — "  Early  Love  " — The 
Crofter's  Daughter — Her  Two  Lovers — ^The  Unlucky  Funeral — 
The  Consequences,  .  .  .  .  .  .140 

CHAPTER  XrV. 

The  Lily  of  the  Vale — Reminiscences  of  Kinnettles  School — Percy 
Guthrie—"  Rest,  Love,  Joy  "—Dark  Clouds— The  Betrothal  of  the 
"Lily"— Her*' FareweU"— Her  Death  at  Sea,     .  .  .164 


CONTENTS.  XI 


CHAPTER  XV. 


FAOX 


St  Fergus'  Well — Cemetriee  and  Country  Burying-grounds — ^The 
Ancient  Monastery — Joe  "Wighton — His  Ambition — His  Vow — His 
Voyage  to  London — His  successful  career  in  the  Metropolis — 
Becomes  Lord  Mayor  of  London — The  Cirio  Banquet — Early 
Memories— *' My  Boy  does  not  Return,"    .  .  .  ,178 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  Warning— Tribute  to  a  Parent— Sabbath  Evening— The  Village 
Tailor— The  Unearthly  Noise— Predictions  of  the  Tailor— The 
Mysterious  Procession — ^The  Lost  Brother — The  Sailor's  Return — 
Predictions  Falsified— "Loud  the  Timbrel  Sound!"         .  .        192 

CHAPTER  XVn. 

A  Sabbath  Day  at  Einnettles — Associations  connected  with  the  Sab- 
bath— ^A  Country  Churchyard — First  Religious  Impressions — 
Missions — Decline  of  Sacred  Music — ^The  Songs  of  Zion,  207 

CHAPTER  XVIIL 

Lucy  Johnstone — Pabt  I. :  Sunshine — Lucy's  Girlhood— Her  Cottage 
Home — Blaeberry  Excursion  to  the  Hunter  Hill — The  Snowstorm 
— Lucy's  Song.  Part  II. :  The  Destroyer — Hayston — Walter 
Ogilvy — His  first  appearance  at  Church — His  Resolution—"  The 
Reaper's  Song."  Pabt  III. :  The  Victim — Changed  Demeanour 
of  Lucy — ^Walter  Ogilvy's  Departure — Dark  Clouds  o'ershadow 
Lucy's  Home.  Part  IV. ;  The  Retribution — Captain  Vernon — 
Search  for  Lucy's  Grave — ^The  Stranger  in  Thornton  Wood — His 
Death— The  Discovery,        ......        222 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Legend  of  the  Nine  Maidens — Glen  Ogilvy — St  Donivald  and  his  Nine 
Daughters — ^The  Hermitage — Removal  to  Abemethy — Canonised 
as  "The  Nine  Maidens," 263 

CHAPTER  XX. 

Life— When  do  Mankind  begin  to  Live  ? — ^The  Last  Night  at  Home — 
The  Departure  from  Strathmoro— The  Gift— The  Farewell— First 
Impressions  of  l4fe,  ......        267 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

Death— The  Weaver  Poet— Death  on  Land— "In  Memoriam  "—First 
Sight  of  the  Sea — Montrose — ^The  Academy — ^Billy  Dickson — Death 
at  Sea — First  Impressions  of  Death,  ....        276 


XU  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


PAGB 


Kinnaird  Castle— Early  History  of  the  Camegies  of  Kinnaird— The 
Old  Mansion  House— The  Present  Castle  of  Kinnaird— The 
Camegies  of  Southesk  in  a  literary  point  of  view— Tradition  of 
James,  Second  Earl  of  Southesk— Tradition  of  "  The  DeU's  Den" 
-  -*' Saskatchewan,  and  the  Rocky  Mountains"— Majority  of  Lord 
Carnegie—"  Congratulatory  Ode  "— •"  Song  of  Welcome."  .        291 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Guthrie  Castle— The  Barony  of  Guthrie— The  Family  of  Guthrie— 
Feuds  between  the  Gardynes  and  Guthries— Roman  Camp — 
James  Guthrie,  the  Martyiv-William  Guthrie,  Author  of  "  The 
Christian's  Great  Interest  "—William  Guthrie  the  Historian- 
Bishop  Guthrie — Origin  of  the  name  of  Guthrie,  .  .        310 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Aberlemno— Melgund  Castle — ^Traditions  connected  therewith — 
Cardinal  Beaton — Turin  Hill — Ancient  Obelisks— Traditions  as 
to  their  Origin  and  Design,  .....        315 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

Finhaven  Castle— The  "  Tiger  Earl  "—Legend  of  the  Highland  Gillie- 
Cardinal  Beaton — Marriage  of  his  Daughter  to  the  Master  of 
Crawford— The  Vitrified  Fortn-Roman  Camp  of  Battledykes,  820 

CHAPTER  XXVL 

Foam — Legend  of  Lady  Vane — Legend  of  the  Treasure  Dungeon— 
The  Waterkelpies,  Brownies,  and  Ghaists  of  Feam — ^The  Old 
Fortlace  of  Bnmdyden— "  The  Ghaist  o' Feme  Den,"      .  .        825 

CHAPTER  XXVIL 

Careston  Castle — ^The  Noran  and  the  South  Esk- The  Vandalic  Laird 

— Legend  of  Young  Donald  of  the  Isles — ^Antiquities  of  Careston,      883 

CHAPTER  XXVIIL 

Mauleeden — ^Influence  of  Summer — Combination  of  the  Romantic  and 
the  Beautiful — Reminisoenoea — "  The  Bell  in  the  Old  Brechin 
Tower  struck  One,"  ......        388 


CONTENTS.  xm 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


PAOI 


Tbe  BeoQgnition — ^Twenty  Years'  Abflenoe— Reflectiona  thereupon — 
The  Snow  Storm— The  Open  Orare— The  Way-side  Hostehrie— 
The  Attempted  Murder  prevented — ^The  Explanation — ^The  Sick- 
Bed— The  Unexpected  Meeting,    .....        842 

CHAPTBK  XXX. 

The  Miner's  Daughter — Squire  Graham  of  Kinoaldrum — ^The  Young 
Student — ^Annie  Glen — ^The  Student's  Declaration  of  Love — 
Affianced  to  Annie— Their  Last  Meeting — ^The  Discovery — ^Annie's 
Sudden  and  Mysterious  Death — ^The  Maniac — The  Closing  Scene,      857 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

First  and  Last  Love — ^Deikution  of  Woman's  Love — ^The  Declaration — 
The  Vow — ^The  Parting — Change  of  Scene  and  its  Consequences — 
India — Chelsea — Christmas  at  Brompton — The  Re-union — Love  as 
a  passion,  and  Love  as  a  deep-seated  feeling  of  the  heart,  872 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A  Sister's  Love — Realization  of  a  Youthful  Dream — Maiguerette — 
Her  Spiritual  Surroundings — Leaves  Strathmore  for  Portobello — 
The  Sands  and  Bay — Her  Foretaste  of  Heaven  and  its  Joys — 
Her  Last  Wish— Inveresk  Churchyard— Her  Epitaph,     .  886 

CHAPTER  XXXIIL 

iMBie  and  Kinpumie  Hill— The  Old  Church  of  Eassie— Traditions  of 
the  Diluvian  Mount  and  Monumental  Pillar — Bothy  Systems  of 
Scotland  and  Norway  contrasted — Dialects  of  Angus  and  Iceland, 
Sweden  and  Denmark — Castle  of  Hatton — Legend  of  the  Pechts' 
House — ^Yiew  from  Kinpumie  Hill — The  Observatory — Thunder- 
storm, ........       895 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Ifatg^e — Scotland  as  a  Savage  and  Barbarous  Nation— Civilization 
pi ogr eases  greatly  in  the  reigns  of  James  I.,  James  IV.,  and 
James  V. — ^The  Art  of  Printing  Introduced  in  1508 — Ancient  and 
Modem  Names  of  Scotland  and  its  Inhabitants— General  and 
Ecclesiastical  History  of  Scotland — Science  of  Antiquities- 
Memorials  of  Macbeth— Sepulchral  Monument  of  Vanora — 
LegvndaofVanora,  and  King  Arthur,       ....       408 


XIV  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


PAOX 


The  Abbey  of  Cupar-in-Aiigufr-  LiteraiT'  Grenius — Moral  of  the  Rose 
Garden — Origin  of  the  Name  Cupar— Erection  of  the  Abbey — 
Rentals  of  the  Abbey — Benefactors  of  the  Abbey — Abbots  of 
Cupar — ^The  Abbey,  the  Temporary  Residence  of  Royalty — Sir 
William  Wallace  at  the  Abbey — Heritable  Bailies  and  Porters  of 
the  Abbey — Vicissitudes  of  Fortune,  and  Subeequent  Prosperity 
in  the  time  of  Abbot  William — Destruction  of  the  Abbey — 
Tradition  of  its  Solitary  Remaining  Arch  and  Secret  Subter- 
raneous  Passage  to  the  Sidlaws,      .....        420 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

Kettina— The  Village— The  "Great  Pitcur  "—Battle  of  KiUiecrankie— 
Antiquities  of  the  Parish — The  Churchyard — Lintrose — The 
Mysterious  Care—"  The  Flower  of  Strathmore  "—Eventide,       .        440 

CHAPTER  XXXVn. 

Cargill — ^The  Muschets  and  Drummonds  of  Cargill — ^Roman  Encamp- 
ment— Stobhall — Linn  of  Campsie — Tradition  of  "Hangies 
WelL" 446 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

Bendochy — Couttie  Bridge — Flora  of  the  District — Sessional  Recorda — 

Abbacy  Chapels— Ancient  Monuments — Dr.  Barty,      .  .  450 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

Blairgowrie — Its  Lochs,  Rivers,  Bridges,  and  Old  Castles — Craighall 
— ^The  Eagle's  Craig — Legend  of  Lady  Lindsay— Newton  Castle 
—Tradition  of  "  The  Green  Lady  "—Hill  of  Blaiiv-MoraUty  of  the 
District  in  the  Seventeenth  Century,      ....  455 

CHAPTER  XL. 

Rattray — ^Donald  Cargill — Bells — Their  Origin — ^Associations  connected 

with  the  "Sabbath  Bells  "of  Scotland,  ...  464 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

Alyth— The  Shepherd  Boy — Antiquity  of  the  Pariah — Mount  Blair — 
Kingseat — Castle  of  Inverquiech — Barry  Hill — Legend  of  **  Queen 
Wander  "—Lord  Ogilvy's  "  Repentance  "—Reflections,  •  467 


CONTENTS.  XV 


CHAPTER  XLII. 


FAOX 


Ben  of  Alrlie — ^Flora  of  the  Ben — Destniotion  of  the  Old  Castle- 
Castle  of  Forter — Craig  in  Glenisla — The  Cambridge  Student — 
"The  Bonnie  Braes  o*Airlie," 473 

CHAPTER  XLHI. 

Kimemmr—The  Family  of  Airlie— The  Ogilvys  of  Inverqnharity— 
Tradition  of  Muir  Moss — Hill  of  Kirriemuir — View  from  its  Sum- 
mit—Standing and  RockiDg  Stones — Tradition  of  the  Robbers — 
"  Weems  Holes  "—The  Den— Tradition  of  "  The  King's  Chamber  " 
—Reminiscences — Reflections,     .....  480 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

Castles  of  Forfar— The  Brothers  Strang— Forfar,  firm  to  the  cause  of 
Episcopacy — The  **  Sutors  "  of  Forfar — Dr.  Jamieson — Origin  of 
the  "  Scottish  Dictionary  "—Witchcraft— The  M'Comies  and  Far- 
quharsons — Camlochan— Tradition  of  the  Mermaid— Death  of 
U'Comie,  .  - 488 

CHAPTER  XLV. 

The  Village  Clnh :  1870— The  Stranger— Visit  to  ^lis  birth-place- 
Glen  Ogilvy— The  Old  Homestead  and  '* Ancient  Mill"— Village 
of  Glamis— Cottage  Home  of  "The  Forester's  Daughter" — 
Imaginative  Re-unions — Visit  to  the  Churchyard — The  Old 
Grare-digger — Reminiscences — The  Village  Hostelrie — Fate  of 
the  Members  of  the  "Village  Club" — Their  Re-appearance — 
"What  though  the  Night  be  Stormy  "— "  The  Bonnie  Bay  o*  Lu- 
nan  "—"The  Golden  Orange  "— "  The  Forsaken  "— *'  The  Unseen " 
—Dissolving  of  the  Scene— The  Farewell,  .  .  498 


STMTHMOfiE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 


CHAPTER  I, 

GLAMIS. 

Soft  flow  thy  streams,  bright  bloom  thy  flowers, 

Thy  birdies  liltin'  as  of  yore : 
The  music  of  thy  fragrant  bowers, 
*  The  voice  of  love  awakes  once  more. 

Thou  bonnie  Howe  o'  sweet  Strathmore, 

Thou  bonnie  Howe  o'  sweet  Strathmore, 

Life's  early  spring  I  spent  in  thee — 

My  blessings  on  thee  eyermore. 

The  "  Great  Valley,"  or  Howe  of  Strathmore,  independent  of 
its  historical  and  classical  aslsociations,  is  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful and  romantic  vales  in  Scotland.  Surrounded  on  the  south 
hj  the  long  rugged  ridge  of  the  Sidlaw  HiUs,  and  guarded  on 
the  north  by  the  Grampian  Mountains,  the  "  Howe  "  luxuri- 
antly nestling  between,  the  great  valley  is  unsurpassed  in  all 
that  constitutes  soft,  yet  rich  and  gorgeous  landscape.  Hamlet, 
village,  vale,  and  hill,  combine  with  castle,  wood,  and  stream, 
to  form  a  picture,  which,  once  seen,  can  never  be  forgotten. 

Two  of  the  finest  and  most  striking  views  of  this  celebrated 
valley  are  obtained  by  the  traveller ;  the  one  from  the  Castle 
of  Hatton,  in  the  Glack  of  Newtyle,  and  the  other  on  the  road 
&om  Dundee  to  Coupar- Angus,  when  emerging  from  the  defile 


2  STRATHMORE:  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

through  the  Sidlaws  in  the  immediate  proximity  of  Hali- 
burton  House.  When  the  Queen  visited  Scotland  in  the 
autumn  of  1844,  she  took  the  latter  route  when  proceeding 
to  the  Highlands  of  Perthshire.  The  scenery,  on  approaching 
the  Sidlaws  from  the  south,  gradually  becomes  comparatively 
bleak  and  uninteresting ;  but,  once  through  the  "  glack,"  the 
scene  changes  as  if  by  enchantment,  when  the  "  Howe,*'  in  all 
its  luxuriant  loveliness,  bursts  in  an  instant  on  the  enraptured 
view.  The  Prince  Consort,  who  was  an  ardent  admirer  of 
the  beauties  of  Nature,  was  so  captivated  by  the  unexpected 
yet  ftilly  appreciated  beauty  of  the  scene,  that  he  ordered  the 
Royal  cortege  to  pause  on  the  top  of  the  hill  to  afford 
sufficient  time  to  the  Eoyal  visitants  to  master  the  details  of 
such  a  superb  and  beautiful  picture,  chased  in  frame-work  so 
lofty  and  sublime. 

Although  the  beautiful  rivers,  the  North  Esk  and  the  South 
Esk  (the  Tina  and  Esica  of  the  Romans)  and  the  Isla,  flow 
through  the  extreme  east  and  western  boundaries  of  the 
Strath,  the  Kerbet'and  the  Dean  are  the  only  streams  that 
diversify  the  landscape  in  Strathmore  proper.  The  latter 
takes  its  rise  in  the  Loch  of  Forfar,  receiving  in  its  course 
the  waters  of  the  Kerbet  and  falling  into  the  Isla  before  its 
junction  with  the  Tay  at  Kinclaven  in  Perthshire. 

The  Lochs  of  Feithie  and  Forfar  in  the  Howe,  although  not 
equal  in  point  of  extent  or  romantic  scenery  to  those  of 
Lintrathen  or  Lee,  are,  nevertheless,  most  interesting  in  a 
geological  or  historical  aspect.  In  regard  to  the  fit^t.  Sir 
Charles  Lyell  observes  that  it  is  completely  surrounded  by 
calcareous  deposits,  making  its  geological  features  unique, 
and  its  treasures  highly  valuable. 

Loch  Feithie  belongs  to  Mr  Dempster  of  Dunnichen,  and 
its  banks  until  lately  were  covered  with  thriving  forest  trees, 
which  gave  the  place  a  beautiful  and  romantic  appearance,  very 
different  from  its  present  bleak  and  cheerless  aspect.  This 
rude  despoilage  is  the  more  to  be  regretted  as  this  retired  spot 
was  a  much-loved  resort  of  its  former  proprietor,  the  celebrated 


6LAMIS.  3 

politician  and  agriculturist  George  Dempster,  who  wrote  an 
mscnption  on  the  grave  of  a  favourite  green-linnet,  buried  by 
the  side  of  the  loch.     He  quaintly  hopes  the  epitaph  may 

"  place  on  the  rolls  of  fame 
The  bird,  hu  maiBter's  and  his  mistress'  name, 
While  school<-boys  perches  in  Loch  Feithie  take^ 
And  the  sun*s  shadow  dances  on  the  lake." 

Mr  Dempster  was  long  M.P.  for  the  Fife  and  Forfar  district 
of  Burghs,  and  is  celebrated  by  Bums,  as  "a  true-blue  Scot," 
in  his  address  to  the  Scottish  representatives. 

The  Loch  of  Forfar,  on  the  other  hand,  is  full  of  the  most 
stirring  historical  associations.  In  remote  times  there  seems 
to  have  been  an  island  in  the  middle,  or  at  the  northern  end 
of  the  Loch,  for  we  find  that  Alexander  II.,  by  deed,  dated  at 
Kinross,  18th  July  1234,  provides  that  five  merks  be  given 
for  the  lights  at  the  monastery  of  Cupar,  and  ten  for  the 
support  of  two  monks  of  that  house,  who  shall  abide  and 
celebrate  divine  service  on  the  island  in  the  Loch  of  Forfar, 
to  which  were  added,  for  the  benefit  of  the  officiating  monks, 
the  common  pasture  of  the  King's  lands  of  T3rrbeg,  for  six 
cows  and  a  horse.  Subsequently,  by  a  charter  of  Adam  White 
of  Forfar,  the  monks  were  constituted  his  heirs  after  his  death, 
if  he  should  die  without  issue  (Brev.  Reg.  de  Gupro).  It  was 
also  on  this  island,  or  more  probably  on  the  peninsula  or  inch 
on  the  north  side  of  the  Loch,  called  Queen  Margaret's 
Inch,  that  Margaret,  Queen  of  Malcolm  Ganmore,  had  a  royal 
residence,  the  foundations  of  which  are  still  visible. 

The  assassins  of  Malcolm  II.,  after  committing  the  foul 
murder,  endeavoured  to  escape,  but  in  crossing  Forfar  Loch, 
then  imperfectly  frozen  over,  the  ice  gave  way,  and  they  all 
miserably  perished. 

The  draining  of  the  Loch  has  long  formed  the  subject  of 
debate  among  the  wise  men  in  the  county  town  and  the  prac- 
tical agriculturists  of  the  country.  It  is  in  reference  to  this 
prolific  source  of  dispute  that  the  following  amusing  story  is 
told  of  Patrick,  Earl  of  Strathmore.    After  listening  for  some 


4  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

time  to  an  animated  and  scientific  debate  on  the  best  means  of 
effectually  draining  the  Loch,  in  order  to  make  it  fit  for  agri- 
cultural purposes,  his  Lordship  abruptly  wound  up  the  dis- 
cussion by  naively  observing  that  in  his  opinion  the  only 
really  practical  mode  left  open  to  them  was  to  empty  a  few 
hogsheads  of  whisky  into  the  Loch,  for  in  that  case  he  wittily 
added,  "  The  writers  of  Forfar  would  not  be  long  in  draining 
up  the  Loch  ! " 

The  most  prominent  object  on  the  Sidlaw  range  of  moun- 
tains is  an  observatory  on  the  summit  of  Kinpumie  Hill,  to 
the  south-east  of  the  village  of  Newtyle.  This  building  was 
erected  by  the  Hon.  James  Mackenzie,  Lord  Privy  Seal,  who, 
previous  to  his  death  in  1800,  resided  at  Belmont  Castle,  as 
proprietor  of  the  lands  of  Keilor,  since  then  become  the 
property  of  Lord  Whamcliffe.  The  walls  of  the  Observatory 
etill  defy  the  blasts  of  time,  and  form  a  well-known  landmark 
for  the  mariner  voyaging  on  the  Northern  Sea  or  entering  the 
estuary  of  the  Tay. 

The  most  classical  and  historically  interesting,  as  well  as 
the  grandest  spot  in  Strathmore,  is  undoubtedly,  however, 
the  Castle  of  Glamis  and  its  world-famed  magnificent  sur- 
roundings. I  shall  confine  my  dissertations,  therefore,  in 
these  introductory  chapters  to  the  parishes  of  Glamis  and 
Kinnettles,  as  forming  the  centre  from  which  the  Tales  and 
Legends  of  the  subsequent  chapters  will  uniformly  diverge. 

Strathmore  being  my  native  vale,  and  Aimiefoul  farm,  in 
the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  Glamis,  the  place  of  my 
birth,  the  Howe  having  been  besides  the  birthplace  of  my 
ancestors  for  many  centuries,  and  where  many  of  their 
descendants  tenant  the  farms  of  their  fathers  to  the  present 
day,  I  shall  ever  feel  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of  song, 
and  of  deeply-cherished  sunny  memories,  while  endeavouring 
to  open  up  the  legendary  lore,  and  to  portray  the  more  salient 
and  attractive  features  of  a  district  in  every  sense  so  dear  to 
my  heart,  and  so  worthy  of  being  commemorated  by  an  abler 
though  not  less  loving  pen  than  mine. 


GLAMIS.  5 

Gkmis  means  noise  or  sound ;  and  in  similar  situations, 
where  there  are  ravines  in  the  district,  the  aiSiz  iss,  yss,  eis, 
signifying  an  obstruction  or  barrier,  is  common  in  the  names 
of  places  with  some  descriptive  appellation  prefixed.  The 
name  Glamis,  or  Glanunis,  therefore,  seems  to  be  descriptive 
of  the  most  striking  natural  features  of  the  parish.  A  sweet 
sparkling  rivulet  called  "  Glamis  Bum  "  flows  down  its  centre 
for  some  miles,  rushing,  immediately  to  the  south  of  the 
village,  through  the  rugged  ravine,  the  rush  of  water  along  its 
bottom  producing  a  subdued  murmuring  sound.  There  is 
another  derivation  of  the  name,  however,  which  seems  more 
applicable  to  the  parish  in  general;  viz.,  that  Glamis  is 
probably  a  corruption  of  the  Gaelic  Glamhus,  which  means  a 
wide  open,  or  champaign  country. 

It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that,  although  still  retaining 
some  of  its  former  features,  the  natural  beauties  of  this 
picturesque  and  romantic  dell  have  been  utterly  destroyed  by 
the  erection  of  a  huge  structure  of  solid  masonry  which 
stretches  across  the  ravine,  damming  up  the  waters  of  the 
bum  to  form  an  immense  reservoir  of  water,  which  stretches 
away  among  the  trees  to  the  south  nearly  as  far  as  the  eye 
can  reacL  Aa  the  temporary  cause  for  the  erection  of  this 
rude  obstruction  of  the  waters  of  the  bum  and  the  formation 
of  the  reservoir  has  now  passed  away,  it  is  to  be  hoped  this 
lovely  and  romantic  spot  will  soon  be  restored  to  its  natural 
and  pristine  beauty. 

The  hamlet  or  village  of  Glamis,  apart  altogether  from  the 
historical  and  classical  associations  of  its  neighbourhood,  is  one 
of  the  most  beautifully-situated  of  our  Scottish  villages. 
Built  on  the  banks  of  a  mountain  rivulet,  and  at  the  base  of 
a  lofty  pine-clad  hiU,  surrounded  by  scenery  of  the  most 
beautiful  and  attractive  description,  and  nestling  amongst 
ancient  and  extensive  woods,  it  presents  a  scene  of  retired  and 
quiet  seclusion  from  the  busy  world  quite  refreshing  to  the 
pent-up  denizen  of  the  crowded  city. 

Standing  on  the  bridge,  beneath  which  pleasantly  flows  the 


6  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

bum  already  noticed,  the  view  on  either  side,  although 
necessarily  somewhat  contracted,  is  very  pleasing  and  beauti- 
ful. To  the  north  appear  the  barley  mill,  the  church,  church- 
yard, and  manse,  the  village  stretching  away  to  our  left,  and 
a  beautifully  wooded  dell,  with  the  water  of  the  bum  flowing 
fretfully  through  its  midst,  opening  up  its  romantic  beauties 
to  our  right.  Southward — the  brook,  the  rocky  ravine,  the 
smithy,  a  few  straggling  cottages  amidst  their  trim  gardens 
and  kailyards,  and  the  ruins  of  a  modem,  unromantic  factory 
are  the  principal  objects  which  attract  the  eye ;  while  high 
above,  the  Hunter  Hill,  in  all  its  luxuriant  sylvan  beauty, 
crowns  the  scene  as  with  a  diadem  of  emerald,  the  happy 
birds  meanwhile  comingling  their  thrilling  notes  of  gladness 
with  the  merry  voices  of  the  rustic  urchins  at  roystering  play 
on  the  village  green.  The  dens  and  ravines  in  the  parish  are 
very  rich  in  their  display  of  wild  flowers  during  the  season  in 
particular  of  the  avens,  geraniums,  and  anemones.  Among 
the  more  rare  plants  may  be  noticed  the  orohus  sylvaticus,  and 
in  the  marshes  along  the  Dean  the  yellow  water-lily  may  be 
seen  in  all  its  beauty. 

John  de  Logy — supposed  to  have  been  the  father  of  the 
Queen  of  David  II, — received  the  reversion  of  the  thanedom 
of  Glamis  from  that  monarch  in  the  year  1363.  The  reddendo 
was  a  red  falcon  to  be  delivered  yearly  at  the  feast  of  Pente- 
cost. This  thanedom  was  afterwards  given  to  Sir  John  Lyon, 
ancestor  of  the  Earls  of  Strathmore,  in  dowry  vrith  his  wife, 
Jane,  daughter  of  Robert  II. 

The  oldest  castles  in  Angus  are  undoubtedly  those  of  Bed 
Castle  and  Guthrie,  both  occupied  in  1306,  and  supposed  to 
have  been  built  some  centuries  previous.  It  is  true.  Sir  David 
Guthrie  of  Kincaldram,  and  Treasurer  to  James  II.,  acquired 
the  Barony  of  Guthrie  in  1465,  and  became  the  founder  of 
the  family  of  that  ilk,  but  the  castle,  and  name,  and  family 
had  been  in  existence  many  centuries  before  that  period. 

Although  from  a  remote  era  there  was  a  royal  residence 
at  Glamis,  or  in  its  immediate  neighbourhood,  first  noticed  in 


t  GLAMia  7 

connection  with  the  death  of  Malcolm  IL,  in  1034,  the  present 
Castle  was  only  begun  to  be  built  in  the  time  of  the 
first  Earl  of  Kinghorn,  who  succeeded  his  father  in  1578. 
This  nobleman  did  not  live  to  finish  the  work,  the  much- 
admired  ceiling  in  the  great  hall  not  being  completed 
until  1620. 

The  chapel  is  a  most  interesting  and  beautiful  apartment, 
the  paintings  on  the  walls  and  ceiling  having  been  executed 
in  1688  by  Jacob  de  Witt,  the  Dutchman,  who  a  few  years 
prerious  painted  the  Kings  in  the  Picture  Gallery  of  Holy- 
rood  Palace.  The  paintings  in  the  chapel,  however,  are  very 
much  superior  to  those  of  Holyrood. 

In  the  agreement  between  the  Earl  of  Kinghorn  and  the 
artist,  it  was  expressly  stipulated  that  each  of  the  fifteen  large 
panels  in  the  roof  of  the  chapel  should  contain  **  a  full  and 
distinct  storie  of  our  Blessed  Saviour,  conforme  to  the  cutts 
in  a  Bible  here  in  the  house,  or  the  Service  Booke  ;  *'  while 
the  lesser  pannels  were  to  be  filled  **  with  the  angels  in  the 
side,  and  such  other  things  as  he  [De  Witt]  shall  invent  and 
be  esteemed  proper  for  the  work."  The  altar-piece  was  to  be 
the  Crucifixion,  ''  and  the  doore-piece  the  Ascencione."  Our 
Saviour  and  His  Twelve  Apostles  were  to  form  the  subjects 
of  the  paintings  in  the  panels  around  the  chapel,  "  in  als  full 
stature  as  the  panels  will  permit.'' 

For  this  work  De  Witt  made  a  claim  of  200  merks,  which 
the  Earl  disputed,  and  wrote  to  the  artist  as  follows : — 

"  I  would  give  now,  after  full  deliberation,  for  the  roof  of 
the  chapel,  £15  sterling;  for  our  Saviour,  the  Twelve 
Apostles,  the  King's  father,  the  two  Martyrs,  St  Paul  and  St 
Stephen,  the  altar  and  door-pieces,  £20  sterling." 

It  is  said  that  the  chapel  at  Glamis  is  the  only  one  besides 
Boslin  in  which  the  exclusive  use  of  the  Liturgy  dates  from 
a  period  preceding  the  Revolution  of  1688.  Roslin  and 
Glamis  thus  link  the  Episcopal  Church  of  the  present  with 
that  of  the  past  It  was  first  consecrated  in  1688,  on  the  eve 
of  that  Bevolution  which  hurled  the  last  of  the  Eoyal  Stuarts 


9  STRATHHORE  :  ITS  SCBNBS  AND  LEGENDS. 

from    the    throne   and    expelled   tlie  Bishops   from    their 
Dioceses. 

This  ancient  chapel,  after  a  period  of  desuetude  of  neai^ 
a  hundred  years,  was  reK)peaed  for  divine  service  on  the  Feast 
of  St  Michael  and  All  Angels,  1866.  The  ceremonial  of  the 
day  conmienced  with  a  solemn  Bcrvice  of  benediction,  composed 
for  the  occasion  by  the  Bishop  of  Brechin.  The  office  an- 
cluded  with  the  celebration  of  the  holy  communion,  according 
to  the  old  Scottish  rite. 

The  second  service,  or  Matins,  followed  soon  thereafter, 
with  the  BenedkiU  sung  as  a  processional  chant  by  a  full  and 
well-trained  choir,  among  whom  were  the  Countess  of  Strath- 
more,  Lady  Elizabeth  Arthur,  Lady  Constance  Hay,  and 
other  of  the  guests  at  the  Castle,  along  with  several  of  the 
domestics.  The  clei^  in  their  surplices,  and  the  Bishop 
in  his  robes  closed  the  procession. 

The  chants  used  were  Gregorian,  and  the  anthem  was  the 
Dedication  Hymn  "Christ  is  made  the  sure  Foundation." 
The  musical  service  for  the  Holy  Communion  was  "  Marbeck's 
Plain  Song."  The  effect  of  the  fine  chant,  as  heard  in  the 
chapel  when  the  procession  wound  slowly  from  the  crypt,  up 
the  grand  stair-case,  and  through  the  ancient  hall,  was  strik- 
ingly solemn  and  impressive,  reminding  one  of  old  times, 
when 

"  No  Knind  of  baay  Ijfa  was  heard  unid  the  aloiBten  dim. 
Save  the  tinkling  of  the  Bilrer  bell,  and  the  ustor's  holy  hfroD." 

Previous  to  the  re-opening  of  the  hallowed  shrine,  great 
alterations  had  taken  place  in  the  interior  arrangements  and 
finishings  of  the  chapel.  The  raised  dais  and  box  pews  with 
all  their  graduated  scale  of  rank,  had  disappeared,  and  in 
leir  stead  were  simple  benches  and  chairs.  In  place  of  the 
Id  diminutive  altar,  there  now  arose  a  new  one  of  large 
imensions,  splendidly  vested  in  white  silk,  and  richly 
nbroidered  in  crimson  and  gold.  On  the  super-altar  was 
isplayed  a  beautifully  jewelled  cross  in  all  ite  symbolic  signi- 
:ance  with  ornate  vases  of  variegated  flowers  expressive  of  the 


6LAMIS.  9 

beauty  of  God's  great  creation.  The  heavy  black  panels  in 
'which  the  paintings  are  framed  have  been  gilt,  and  the  pic- 
tures themselves  cleaned  and  varnished  without,  in  the  least, 
interfering  with  the  air  of  antiquity  which  characterises  the 
place. 

The  sermon  by  the  Bishop  of  Brechin,  from  the  appropriate 
text — Joshua  xxiv.  15, — "But  as  for  me  and  my  house,  we 
will  serve  the  Lord,"  was  a  very  eloquent  and  impresfeive  one 
—concluding  thus — 

"  When  I  look  upon  this  church  I  am  called  back  to  the 
recollections  of  the  past.  I  see  here  a  great  religious  effort 
upon  the  part  of  that  strong-willed  and  predominant  race  who 
have  so  long  inhabited  this  venerable  Castle.  I  see  here  the 
first  effort,  after  the  doubts  and  difficulties  of  the  Scotch  Re- 
formation, to  raise  a  temple  in  the  appropriate  spirit  to  God. 
I  see  here  the  results  of  that  short-lived  period  of  civilization 
— of  high  cultivation — which  from  the  time  of  the  accession 
of  King  James  to  the  English  throne,  till  the  troubles  about 
the  Prayer-book,  distinguished  Scotland.  I  see  here  the 
dedication  of  Christian  art  to  the  services  of  the  sanctuary — 
not,  indeed  Christian  art  after  the  spiritual  glories  of  the 
Italian  Schools,  but  stiU  they  did  what  they  could,  and  those 
who  decorated  the  church  were,  at  least,  no  puritans.  I  see 
here  almost  the  last  act  of  our  Bishops  in  its  consecration 
just  before  the  dis-establishment  of  our  church.  And  I  see 
where,  in  the  time  of  our  depressed  position,  the  litany  used 
to  be  said,  and  prayers  arose  to  God,  till  at  last  the  French 
Revolution  came,  and  all  became  coldness,  and  the  voice  of 
prayer  and  praise  ceased.  These  days,  thank  God,  are  gone 
for  ever.  I  should  be  mis-using  this  place  were  I  to  use  it  as 
a  vehicle  for  praise  and  flattery.  We  are  all  in  the  presence 
of  Almighty  God,  answerable  for  those  talents,  for  those 
powers,  for  those  opportunities  which  God  gives  us,  and  when 
we  have  done  all  we  are  unprofitable  servants.  But,  still,  I 
do  believe  that  this  will  be  a  day  much  to  be  remembered  in 
the  future  annals  of  this  ancient  house — that  done  in  the  true 


10  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

spirit  of  religion  and  in  the  love  of  God,  to-day's  act  may 
draw  down  many  blessings  from  heaven,  so  that,  continuing 
in  God's  fear  and  love  this  family  may  cast  its  roots  deeper 
and  spring  to  a  more  vigorous  existence  than  ever,  leavening, 
by  its  example,  those  around  it,  and  impetrating  fresh 
blessings  from  the  Lord  and  God  of  all  good  things." 

The  Castle,  apart  from  association  altogether,  is  the  noblest 
and  most  perfect  specimen  of  feudal  architecture  in  the  king- 
dom— so  grand  and  majestic  as  a  whole,  and  so  perfect  in  its 
every  detail,  that  no  description,  however  elaborate,  can  con- 
vey any  just  or  adequate  idea  of  its  great  magnitude  and 
unique  beauty.  Embosomed  among  sombre  and  extensive 
woods,  this  vast  pile  proudly  rears  its  castellated  towers,  the 
lowness  of  its  situation  and  the  level  nature  of  the  surround- 
ing grounds,  however,  preventing  its  being  seen  from  any 
great  distance.  The  surprise  and  awe,  therefore,  experienced 
is  so  much  the  greater  when,  entering  the  long  and  beauti- 
ful avenue  by  which  it  is  approached  from  the  south,  the 
feudal  pile  in  all  its  solemn  grandeur  bursts  suddenly  upon 
the  view. 

Nor  do  these  feelings  lessen  in  intensity  as  we  gradually 
approach  its  classical  and  hallowed  precincts.  There  is  such 
a  rare  combination  of  the  various  styles  of  the  different  ages 
of  Scotch  baronial  architecture,  harmonising  strangely  enough 
with  the  florid  productions  of  the  French  architectural  school, 
that  our  admiration  intensifies  and  deepens  the  nearer  we 
approach  the  imposing  edifice.  The  great  tower  in  the 
centre,  upwards  of  100  feet  high,  with  its  round-roofed  vaults, 
narrow  orifices,  and  great,  thick,  massy  walls,  is  nearly  of 
the  earliest  period  of  castellated  masonry.  The  rich  cluster 
of  cone-topped  turrets,  again,  with  the  spiral  staircase  in  one 
of  the  angles  of  the  building,  and  the  wings  which  crouch 
beneath  the  great  tower,  are  said  to  be  the  work  of  Inigo 
Jones. 

The  whole  of  the  immense  pile  is  in  fine  preservation,  and 
contains  some  relics  of  great  antiquity  and  general  interest. 


6LAMIS.  1 1 

Besides  the  chapel,  abeady  noticed,  there  are  some  valuable 
historical  portraits  in  the  great  hall ;  several  specimens  of 
old  armour ;  some  court  dresses  of  the  seventeenth  century  ; 
and  the  motley  raiment  of  the  family  fool,  to  the  cap  and 
other  parts  of  which  the  bells  are  still  attached. 

The  ornate  and  beautiful  iron  railing  round  the  central 
tower  was  erected  in  1682.  The  view  obtained  from  this 
tower  is  of  the  most  magnificent  and  attractive  description. 
Indeed,  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  conceive  a  prospect  of 
greater  loveliness  or  more  luxuriant  beauty.  The  whole 
Strath,  in  its  length  and  breadth,  lies  stretched  out  beneath 
and  around  you,  while  the  Sidlaws  on  the  one  hand,  and  the 
Grampians  on  the  other,  form  most  fitting  back-grounds  to 
the  picture,  adding  a  mystic,  weird-like  sublimity  to  the 
fairy  scene. 

Hore — Catlaw,  like  a  sentinel  grim. 

Lone  guards  the  Grampian  Mountains  dim, 

Which  stretch  across  from  sea  to  sea, 

In  glorious,  solemn  majetfty. 

There — cleaving  high  ethereal  air, 

Loom  Caim-a-Month  and  dark  Mount  Blair  ; 

And  in  the  glack  of  yonder  glen, 

The  wild  woods  wave  in  Airlie  Den  ; 

While  rugged  hills  of  dreamy  hue, 

Dim  mingle  with  the  azure  blue, 

And  reach,  in  misty  gloom  afar. 

The  confines  dark  of  Lochnagar. 

In  the  surrounding  grounds  there  were  to  be  seen  within 
the  Isst  fifty  or  sixty  years  a  number  of  statues  and  sculptured 
ornaments,  most  of  which  were  erected  by  Patrick,  third 
Earl  of  Kinghom,  and  first  Earl  of  Strathmore,  who  did  much 
to  encourage  the  cultivation  of  a  taste  for  the  fine  arts. 
None  of  these  now  remain,  except  a  curious  and  richly- 
finished  sun  dial  with  its  many  faces  to  the  sun,  an  object  of 
great  attraction  to  the  antiquary,  as,  indeed,  it  is  of  general 
interest  to  all  admirers  of  this  classic  spot. 

To  the  eastward  of  the  Church  of  Glamis  there  is  a  large 
stone   or  obelisk  of  rude  design  erected,  as  is  generally 


12  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

supposed,  to  commemorate  the  murder  of  Malcolm  11.,  King 
of  Scotland.  In  the  northern  part  of  the  Hunter  Hill,  to  the 
south  of  the  village,  there  is  also  an  ancient  obelisk,  in  the 
midst  of  a  large  cairn  of  stones,  called  King  Malcolm's  grave- 
stone. Near  a  place  called  Cossins,  about  a  mile  north-east 
of  the  Castle,  there  stands  another  obelisk,  called  St  Orland's 
Stone,  evidently  meant  to  perpetuate  the  same  event.  As 
these  suggestive  and  interesting  memorials  will  be  noticed 
more  at  length  when  we  introduce  the  legend  of  Malcolm's 
murder  in  the  wood  near  Thornton,  this  brief  reference  to 
them  here  may  in  the  meantime  suffice. 

Judging  from  the  print  of  Glamis  Castle  by  Slezer  in 
Charles  II.  *s  reign,  it  appears  to  have  been  anciently  much 
more  extensive,  being  a  large  quadrangular  mass  of  buildings, 
with  several  circles  of  defensive  boundaries,  at  each  of  which 
the  sleepless  sentinel  kept  watch  and  ward.  Sir  Walter 
Scott  bitterly  lamented  the  subsequent  landscape-gardening 
operations,  which,  sweeping  down  all  the  exterior  defences, 
left  the  clustered  tower  standing  alone,  in  the  middle  of  a 
park,  unprotected,  like  a  modern  peaceful  mansion.  ''  A 
disciple  of  Kent,"  he  says,  "  had  the  cruelty  to  render  this 
splendid  old  mansion  more  parkish,  as  he  was  pleased  to  call 
it  j  to  raze  all  those  external  defences,  and  to  bring  his  mean 
and  paltry  gravel  walk  up  to  the  very  door,  from  which, 
deluded  by  the  name,  we  might  have  imagined  Lady  Macbeth 
(with  the  form  and  features  of  Siddons)  issuing  forth  to 
receive  King  Duncan.*' 

Previous  to  the  approaches  being  modernised,  the  Castle 
was  the  theme  of  admiring  wonder  of  all  who  beheld  it. 
The  Pretender,  the  Chevalier  St  George,  slept  one  night  in 
the  Castle,  in  1715,  when  on  his  way  to  his  coronation  at 
Scone  ;  and  is  said  to  have  declared  this  ancient  residence  to 
be  the  finest  he  had  ever  seen. 

"  It  is,"  says  De  Foe,  "  one  of  the  finest  old  built  palaces 
in  Scotland,  and  by  far  the  largest.  When  you  see  it  at  a 
distance,  it  is  a  pile  of  turrets  and  lofty  buildings,  spires  and 


GLAMia  13 

towers — Bome  plain,  others  shining  with  gilded  tops,  that  it 
looks  not  like  a  town,  but  a  city." 

Gray,  the  poet,  visited  the  CasUe  in  the  autumn  of  1765, 
a  minute  description  of  which,  and  its  surroundings,  he  gives 
in  a  letter  to  his  friend,  Wharton,  concluding  thus : — "  The 
house,  from  the  height  of  it,  the  greatness  of  its  mass,  the 
many  towers  a-top,  the  spread  of  its  wings,  has  really  a  very 
singular  and  striking  appearance — ^like  nothing  I  ever  saw." 

Four  years  after  the  burgh  of  Forfar  was  pillaged  by 
Colonel  Ocky,  a  part  of  the  army  of  the  Commonwealth  were 
quartered  in  Glamis  Castle,  during  which  the  bakers  of 
Forfar  were  bound,  by  order  of  Captain  Pockley,  dated  from 
the  Castle,  22d  May  1654,  to  supply  them  with  ^'fower 
dussen  of  wheate  breade  for  each  day  in  the  week  ; "  and  the 
fleshers,  ''beefe,  mutton,  or  lambe,  each  Munday  and 
Wedensday  to  serve  the  Garison : "  the  baker  to  receive 
"riddymoney"  for  his  "breade,"  provided  it  was  "full 
weight ; "  the  stipulation  with  the  flesher  being — "And  for 
such  meate  as  shall  be  brought  in  the  partys  shall  receive 
good  payment  for  the  same." 

The    principal    conspirators   in   the  celebrated  Eaid   of 
Buthven  were  the  Earl  of  Mar,  Lords  Oliphant,  Boyd,  and 
Lindsay,   the    Abbot  of  Dunfermline,   and  the  Master  of 
Glamis.     The  conspirators,  in  laying  their  complaints  before 
the  King,  and  seeking  redress  of  their  pretended  grievances, 
used,  it  is  said,  strong  and  insulting  language  to  His  Majesty, 
who,  feeling  himself,  however,  entirely  in  tjieir  hands,    for- 
bore to  express  his  displeasura     After  patiently  listening  to 
their  mock  supplications,  and  giving  a  general  promise  to 
give    all  due    consideration  to  the  wants  of  his  beloved 
subjects,  the  King  rose  to  leave  the  chamber,  but  the  Master 
of  Glamis  rudely  interposed  between  him  and  the  door  of 
the  apartment,  and  gave  him  bluntly  to  understand  he  would 
not  be   permitted  to  leave  the  Castle.     The  King,   after 
vainly  remonstrating  with  his  enemies,  burst  into  a  flood 
of  tears.      "  It  is  no  matter  for  your  tears,"  said  Glamis 


14  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

fiercely,  "  better  that  bairns  should  weep  than  bearded  men." 
These  words,  it  is  recorded,  sunk  deep  into  the  King's 
heart,  and  though  generally  of  an  unrevengefiil  amiable  dis- 
position, and  easily  appeased,  the  insult  they  contained,  was 
never  forgotten  or  forgiven. 

The  tale  of  Macbeth  was  undoubtedly  found  by  Shakespeare 
in  the  Scottish  Chronicles  of  Holinshed,  and  his  genius  adorned 
it  with  a  lustre  to  which  it  was  not  originally  entitled.  The 
castle  of  Macbeth  was  situated  in  Inverness-shire,  but  the 
tragical  events  so  vividly  and  stirringly  portrayed  in  the  drama 
have  evident  reference  to  a  castle  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Glamis.  The  present  Castle  of  Glamis,  as  already  noticed, 
was  only  begun  to  be  built  in  the  sixteenth  century,  whereas 
the  '^ gracious  Duncan"  succeeded  Malcolm  IL  in  1033.  It 
was  in  the  battle  of  Bothgowanan,  near  Elgin,  that  Duncan 
was  slain.  His  defeat  ensured  the  accession  of  Macbeth  to  the 
crown  of  Scotland.  Macbeth  was  slain  by  Macduff  at  Lump- 
hanan  in  Aberdeenshire.  These  facts  in  history  are  now 
known  and  believed,  still  the  mind  persistently  retains  the 
impression  made  by  the  creations  of  genius. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  spent  a  night  in  Glamis  in  1794  and  con- 
cludes an  interesting  account  of  his  sensations  by  saying: — '*In 
spite  of  the  truth  of  history,  the  whole  night  scene  in  Macbeth's 
Castle  rushed  at  once  upon  me,  and  struck  my  mind  more 
forcibly  than  even  when  I  have  seen  its  terrors  represented  by 
John  Kemble  and  his  inimitable  sister.'' 

Macbeth,  as  well  as  Duncan,  was  a  grandson  of  Malcolm  II. 
The  Lady  of  Macbeth,  whose  real  name  was  Gruoch,  had 
deadly  injuries  to  avenge  on  the  reigning  prince.  Her  grand- 
father, Kenneth  IV.,  was  killed  in  1003,  fighting  against 
Malcolm  II.,  and  this  with  other  causes  for  revenge,  combined 
(as  the  old  annalists  add)  with  instigations  of  a  supernatural 
kind,  increased  the  influence  of  a  vindictive  woman  over  an 
ambitious  husband. 

Macbeth,  on  the  other  hand,  according  to  the  legend,  was 
inspired  with  seductive  hopes  by  the  prophetic  exclamations 


GLAMIS.  15 

of  the  three  women  who  appeared  to  him  in  a  dream  or 
vision,  and  hailed  him  successively  as  Thane  of  Cromarty, 
Thane  of  Moray,  and  King  of  Scots.  Scott's  version  is  that 
Macbeth  was  the  son  of  Finel,  Thane  of  Glamis,  and  that  the 
first  woman  or  witch  said — '^  All  hail,  Macbeth !  hail  to  thee, 
Thane  of  Glamis  ! " 

Macbeth,  however,  instead  of  having  been  the  ambitious  con- 
spirator, and  cruel  unscrupulous  tyrant,  represented  by  the  great 
dramatist,  was,  in  reality,  no  usurper  at  all,  but  an  able,  wise, 
and  beneficent  prince.  He  reigned  seventeen  years  after  the 
death  of  Duncan,  and  his  reign  was  one  of  perfect  tranquillity, 
his  subjects  enjoying  prosperity  and  peace.  The  Chron  Elog, 
represents  fertile  seasons  as  attendants  of  his  reign,  which 
Winter  confirms :  "  If  a  King  makes  fertile  seasons,  it  must 
be  by  promoting  agriculture,  and  diffusing  among  his  subjects 
the  blessings  of  peace."  As  evidence  of  his  religious  convic- 
tions, as  well  as  his  general  amiability  of  character,  it  is  on 
record,  that  Macbeth  went  a  pilgrimage  to  Eome  in  the  time 
of  Pope  Leo  the  Ninth. 

Simeon  of  Durham,  and  Eoger  Hoveden,  tell  us,  that  in  the 
year  1050,  Rex  Scoiios  Macketad  MorruB  argentum  spargendo 
distribuit.  Sir  David  Dalrymple,  it  is  true,  endeavours  to  shew 
that  Macbeth  did  not  go  himself  to  Eome,  the  passage  only 
implying  that  he  remitted  money  to  Eome.  But  the  plain 
obvious  sense  of  the  words  points  to  the  conclusion  that  he 
personally  went  to  Eome  at  the  time  indicated.  The  practice 
of  going  to  Eome  was  then  quite  common  among  the  nobles 
and  Kings  of  Europe.  According  to  Pinkerton,  Thorfin, 
Earl  of  Orkney,  went  to  Eome  about  1060 ;  Haco,  Earl  of 
Orkney,  visited  Eome  and  Jerusalem  in  1105 ;  Canute,  King 
of  England,  went  to  Eome  about  1033 ;  Eric  King  of  Denmark 
travelled  on  foot  to  Eome  about  1098  ;  and  to  Jerusalem  in 
1102  ;  Ingi,  King  of  Norway,  went  to  Jerusalem  in  the  twelfth 
century;  Garcias,  King  of  Navarre,  about  1033,  according  to 
the  Spanish  historians.  The  custom  being  then  very  common, 
and  his  subjects  enjoying  great  prosperity  and  the  blessings  of 


1 6       STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEOENDS. 

peace,  there  seems  no  reason  to  distort  the  plain  sense  of  the 
words  concerning  Macbeth.  Winter  confirms  this  acceptation 
of  the  passage,  when  he  says  concerning  the  monarch : — 

"  All  his  tyme  was  great  plente, 
Habundande  bathe  on  lande  and  se : 
He  was  in  justice  richt  lauchful. 
And  til  his  legis  al  awf  ule. 
Quhen  Pape  was  Leo  the  nynt  in  Rome ; 
As  pilgryme  to  the  court  he  come  ; 
And  in  his  alms  he  sew  silver 
Til  al  pur  folk,  that  had  myster. 
In  al  tyme  oysit  he  to  wyrk 
ProfetabiUy  for  haly  Kyrk." 

The  noble  family  of  Strathmore  is  descended  from  an 
illustrious  and  very  ancient  family  called  De  Lyon,  in  France, 
a  branch  whereof  settled  in  Scotland  many  centuries  ago,  and 
had,  by  the  bounty  of  one  of  our  Kings,  sundry  lands  in  the 
shire  of  Perth,  which  were  called  Glen  Lyon,  after  their  own 
surname  whose  successor,  Sir  John  Lyon,  received  from 
King  David  II.  the  baronies  of  Forteviot  and  Forgandenny  in 
Perthshire,  and  the  lands  of  Courtestown  and  Drumgovan  in 
Aberdeenshire. 

The  charter  by  which  Robert  II.  bestowed  the  Thane- 
dom  of  Glamis  in  free  barony  upon  Sir  John  Lyon,  Knight — 
propter  laudabile  d  fidela  servUio  d  contius  laboribus — ^bears  date 
7th  January  1374.  Sir  John's  grandson,  Patrick,  was  created 
Lord  Glamis  in  1445.  Alexander,  Second  Lord,  had  a 
charter  from  Mary,  the  King's  mother,  of  the  Castle  of 
Kinghom  with  the  lands  of  Balberdie,  in  1463.  John,  third 
Lord,  founded  a  chapel  at  Glamis  by  charter  dated  20th 
October  1487.  He  married  Elizabeth,  daughter  of  Sir  John 
Scrymgeour  of  Dudhope.  George,  fifth  Lord,  had  a  charter 
of  the  lands  of  Balneaves,  in  the  Barony  of  KinneU,  from 
Thomas,  Lord  Fraser  of  Lovat,  3l8t  October  1501.  John, 
sixth  Lord,  married  Janet,  sister  of  Archibald,  sixth  earl  of 
Angus.  This  is  the  lady  who  was  burned  on  the  Castlehill 
of  Edinburgh  on  the  17th  December  1534,  for  the  alleged 
crime  of  sorcery,  being  indicted  for  conspiring  against  the  life 


6LAMIS.  17 

of  James  V.  Her  son  John,  afterwards  seventh  lord,  a  mere 
boy,  was  also  included  in  the  charge.  John,  eighth  Lord,  was 
killed  in  a  rencontre  between  his  followers  and  those  of  the 
Earl  of  Crawford,  at  Stirling,  in  May  1578. 

Patrick,  ninth  Lord,  was  created  Earl  of  Kinghom,  Lord 
Lyon  and  Glamis,  1606.  He  acquired  the  barony  of  Tanna- 
dice,  13th  July  1610,  and  the  dominical  lands  of  Castle 
Huntly,  in  the  parish  of  Longforgan,  1613.  His  grandson, 
Patrick,  third  Earl  of  Kinghorn,  was  created  Earl  of  Strath- 
more  and  Kinghom,  1677.  Attached  to  the  Stuart  dynasty, 
at  the  Bevolution  he  retired  from  public  life,  and  spent  his 
time  in  improving  his  estates  and  encouraging  the  arts, 
especially  statuary.  John,  fourth  Earl,  was  of  Queen  Anne*s 
Privy  Council,  and  at  his  death  the  uncommon  circumstance 
occurred  of  four  brothers  succeeding  each  other  in  the  family 
honours.  Of  this  nobleman  the  following  traditionary  story 
is  told : — 

"  An  old  man  being  in  company  with  the  Earl,  who  had 
his  four  sons  with  him,  and  in  conversation  with  the  old 
man,  said, — *  Are  not  these  four  pretty  boys  ? '  To  which 
the  old  man  replied — *  Yes,  but  they  will  be  all  earls,  my 
lord,  all  earl&'  The  earl  said  he  would  be  sorry  if  he  were 
Boie  that  such  would  be  the  case.  The  old  man  affirmed  that 
it  would  be  so,  and  added — 'God  help  the  poor  when 
Thomas  comes  to  be  Earl.' "  This  was  literally  accomplished 
in  the  year  1740,  when  scarcity  and  dearth  threatened 
famine  in  the  land.  • 

The  present  Earl  succeeded  his  brother  in  1865,  and  is  the 
thirteenth  Earl  of  Strathmore,  and  fifteenth  Earl  of  King- 
bom.  He  married  in  1853  Frances  Dora,  third  daughter  of 
Oswald  Smith,  Esq.,  of  Blendon  Hall,  Kent,  and  has  a 
numerous  family  of  sons  and  daughters. 

On  the  26th  October  1874,  the  freedom  of  the  Burgh  of 
Dundee  was  presented  to  the  Earl  of  Strathmore  by  the  Magis- 
trates and  Town    Council  in  honour  of    his  having   been 

appointed  by  her  Majesty  the  Queen  to  the  Lord  Lieutenancy 

B 


18  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

of  Angus,  as  successor  to  the  late  Earl  of  Dalhousie ;  and  in 
testimony  of  their  high  appreciation  of  his  private  character 
and  public  services.  A  brilliant  company  assembled  in  the 
Albert  Institute  on  the  occasion,  the  Countess  of  Strathmore, 
Lady  Constance,  Lord  Glamis,  the  Honourable  Francis  Lyon, 
and  the  Honourable  Ernest  Lyon  being  present.  On  the  lid 
of  the  elegant  casket  containing  the  Freedom  of  the  Buigh,  is 
engraved  the  following  inscription : — "  The  freedom  of  the 
Burgh  of  Dundee,  the  certificate  of  which  is  enclosed  in  this 
casket,  was  by  the  unanimous  vote  of  the  Provost,  Magis- 
trates, and  Town  Council,  conferred  on  the  Eight  Honourable 
Claude,  Earl  of  Strathmore  and  Kinghom,  Lord  Lieutenant 
of  the  County  of  Forfar,  in  testimony  of  the  respect  enter- 
tained by  them  for  his  Lordship's  character  and  pubUc 
services." 


CHAPTER  11. 

KINN£TTL£S. 

Sweet  were  the  days  by  the  swift-flowing  Eerbeti 
When  I  trudged  to  Kinnettles'  wee  school. 

The  name  of  the  parish  is  doubtless  derived  from  the  Gaelic 
word  Kinnettles,  signifying  ''  the  head  of  the  bog."  The 
oldest  forms  in  which  the  name  appears  are  Kynetiks, 
Kynaihes,  and  Kynnecles. 

The  ancient  church  of  Einnettles  occupied  a  much  more 
elevated  position  than  the  present  structure  on  the  banks  of 
the  Kerbet ;  and  was  one  of  the  churches  which  was  given 
by  King  James  YI.  to  the  Archbishop  of  St  Andrews. 
Laurence  of  Montealt,  a  supposed  kinsman  of  the  old  Lords 
of  Feme,  was  rector  of  the  church  in  1226 ;  and  Matthew 
was  the  name  of  the  rector  in  1364. 

In  1567  Inverarity,  Meathie,  and  Kinnettles  formed  one 
parish,  under  the  ministrations  of  James  Fotheringham,  to 
which  was  joined  in  1574  those  of  Forfar,  Rostinoth,  and 
Tannadice,  of  all  which  Ninian  Clement  was  minister,  and 
Alexander  Nevay  was  reader  at  Kinnettles. 

The  last  Episcopal  clergyman  was  Alexander  Taylor, 
author  of  a  serio-comic  poem  entitled  "The  Tempest." 
Taylor  and  several  of  his  brethren,  when  crossing  in  a  boat 
from  Burntisland  to  Leith,  on  26th  November  1681,  en- 
countered a  terrific  storm,  and  his  description  of  the  angry 
waves  buffeting  against  the  frail  bark  though  quaint  is  very 
expressive : — 

"  Each  kept  his  time  and  place, 
As  if  they  meant  to  drown  us  with  a  grace  ; 


20  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

The  first  came  tumbling  on  our  boaVs  side. 
And  knockt  us  twice  her  breadth  and  more  beside  ; 
But— vext  that  it  had  wrought's  no  more  disgrace^ 
It  spits  on  us — spits  on  its  follower's  face." 

On  the  south  bank  of  the  Kerbet,  opposite  Brigton,  is  a 
conically  shaped  rising  ground,  called  from  time  immemorial, 
Kirkhill,  and  which  is  supposed  to  have  been  at  some  remote 
period,  the  site  of  a  religious  house.  It  is  matter  of  history 
that  the  proprietor  of  Foffarty  built  a  popish  chapel  on  his 
property  after  the  Keformation,  and  appointed  a  priest  to 
conduct  the  popish  service,  but  the  site  of  this  chapel  is  said 
to  have  been  on  the  margin  of  a  den  at  the  foot  of  Kincaldrum 
Hill.  It  was  burnt  by  a  party  of  Royal  Dragoons  in  1745  ; 
and  so  late  as  1816,  the  ruins  were  dug  up  from  the  very 
foundation,  and  carried  away  to  fill  up  drains !  The  lands  of 
Foffarty  were  sold  in  1758  to  the  Earl  of  Strathmore,  and 
although  they  belong  quoad  ctvUia  to  the  parish  of  Caputh, 
the  General  Assembly  of  the  Church  of  Scotland  annexed 
them  quoad  sacra  in  1773,  to  the  parish  of  Kinnettles. 

The  Wisharts  of  that  Ilk  were  proprietors  of  Kinnettles 
before  and  during  the  year  1612,  since  which  period  the 
lands  have  passed  into  the  hands  of  various  proprietors.  One 
of  the  more  recent  of  these  was  CoL  William  Patterson,  an 
eminent  botanist,  and  sometime  Lieutenant-Governor  of  New 
South  Wales.  He  was  the  son  of  a  humble  gardener  at 
Brigton,  immediately  adjoining  Kinnettles.  His  parents 
being  poor,  he  had  the  good  fortune  to  receive  the  patron- 
age of  Lady  Mary  Lyon,  second  daughter  of  John,  fourth  Earl 
of  Strathmore,  by  whom  he  wds  educated.  Long  residence 
abroad  having  impaired  his  health,  he  resolved  to  return  to 
Great  Britain,  but  died  on  the  voyage,  21st  June  1810.  An 
elegant  monument,  on  which  are  recorded  his  services  and 
acquirements,  was  afterwards  erected  in  the  churchyard  of 
his  native  parish. 

Mr  John  Inglis  Harvey  was  another  distinguished  native 
of  the  parisL    He  left  Kinnettles  at  a  very  early  age,  and 


KINNETTLEa  21 

after  the  completion  of  his  studies  at  one  of  the  English 
Universities,  entered  the  service  of  the  Hon.  East  India 
Company,  and  became  a  civil  judge  in  India. 

The  estate  of  Kinnettles  was  purchased  in  1864  hy  its 
present  proprietor,  Mr  James  Paterson  of  Heathfield, 
Dundee,  from  the  representatives  of  the  late  Mrs  Harvey. 
The  estate  of  Kinnettles  occupies  the  whole  of  the  south 
slope  of  Brigton  Hill,  with  the  tablelands  to  the  north,  down 
to  the  Kerbet  water.  It  has,  therefore,  a  beautiful  exposure 
to  the  south,  while  it  is  sheltered  from  the  north  and  east, 
by  the  woodland  on  the  summit  of  the  hilL  A  fine  new 
mansion  has  been  recently  erected  on  a  preferable  site  to 
that  on  which  the  old  house  stood,  and  somewhat  higher  up 
the  hill,  from  elaborate  designs  by  Messrs  Peddie  and 
Rinnear  of  Edinburgh.  The  building  is  in  the  old  Scotch 
baronial  style,  and  the  broken,  irregular  outline  of  its  walls 
and  roofs,  with  their  numerous  turrets,  towers,  and  battle- 
ments, arrest  the  attention,  and  challenge  the  admiration  of 
the  beholder,  not  less  for  their  own  beautiful  proportions, 
than  for  the  graceful  manner  in  which  they  harmonise  with 
the  sloping  ground  in  front,  and  the  steep  cliffs  and  over- 
hanging woods  behind.  The  total  length  of  frontage  to  the 
south,  including  the  north-east  wing  and  conservatory,  is  160 
feet.  The  principal  entrance  is  in  the  base  of  a  massive 
square  tower,  at  the  south-east  angle  of  the  building.  The 
front  of  the  building  to  the  west  of  the  tower  is  most 
effectively  treated,  by  being  divided  into  two  gabled  pro- 
jections, one  at  each  end  with  recessed  wall  space  between. 
In  the  front  of  the  building  is  a  spacious  terrace,  laid  out  in 
keeping  with  the  style  of  the  building,  retained  by  low 
ornamental  walls  of  Gothic  character,  and  flanked  at  the 
angles  by  circular  turrets,  like  miniature  shot  towers. 
Altogether  the  new  mansionhouse  of  Kinnettles  is  one  of 
the  most  elegant  mansionhouses  for  its  size,  in  the  county 
of  Forfar. 
The  handsome  village  of  Kinnettles  is  prettily  situated  on 


S2  STRATHHORK:  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEQETnia 

thn  banks  of  the  Kerbet,  a  few  miles  to  the  east  of  Glamis, 
with  whose  history  it  is  closely  associated.  Lying  veiy  low 
in  the  vaUey,  it  is  ofttimes  flooded  by  the  waters  of  the 
Kerbet,  which,  during  &  spate  in  winter,  frequently  overflow 
its  level  banks.  Hence  its  other  name,  "  The  Bog,"  by  which 
it  was  equally  well  known  as  by  that  of  its  more  aristocratic 
title,  Kinnettles. 

The  North  Esk,  has  from  time  immemorial  been  the  resort 
of  the  water-kelples,  and  the  Castle  of  Murphy  being  in  the 
vicinity  of  that  part  of  the  river  where  he  was  most  frequently 
seen,  he  ofTorded,  tradition  saith,  most  material  service  in  its 
erection.  In  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Border,  Dr  Jamieson  refers 
to  the  circumstance  thus ; — 

WheD  Murphy'i  Inird  his  biggin  rear'd 
I  csiryt  aw  the  atonea, 

And  many  a  duel  hu  heard  ine  iquaiil, 
For  uJr  bin'd  back  and  buiea. 

In  a  note  the  writer  says — "  the  water-kelpy  celebrated  the 
event  of  carrying  stones  for  the  building  of  the  castle  in 
rhyme  ;  and  that  for  a  long  time  after,  he  was  heard  to  cry 
with  a  doleful  voice — 

"  Sair  baok  and  aair  bane*, 

CajTyiDg  the  Laird  □'  Murphy's  itanra." 

to  which  a  later  edition  of  the  history  has  added — 

"  The  Laird  o'  Huiphy  will  nerer  thrive. 

So  long  u  Kelpy  ii  aliTe." 

As  the  extensive  peat  mosses  in  the  neighbourhood,  before 

they  were  drained,  became  the  prolific   nurseries    of  the 

"  spunkies,"  so  the  Kerbet,  like  the  North  Esk,  in  a  flood  was 

also  the  favourite  resort  of  the  "  water-kelpies  " — both  races  of 

thical  spirits  being  now,  alas  I  extinct. 

With  earnest  Toioe,  yet  full  of  fire, 

I've  heard  my  renonble  sire. 


How  Spnnkie  danced  in  sportiTS  ^ 
Along  the  marahy  peat  moss  free— 
An  awful  sight  on  earth  to  see, 
Blue  lighting  all  ths  dell 


KIMNETTLES.  23 

And  how,  hy  Brig^n's  spreading  woods, 
When  Kerbet  tumbled  down  hiB  floods, 

He's  heard  the  well  known  splash 
Of  Waterkelpie's  ponderous  weight, 
Enough  an  Indiaman  to  freight, 
And  all  the  old  wives  mad  affright — 

So  terrible  the  smash. 

And  then  to  hear  him  lauchin*  fast. 
As  wildly  roared  the  stormy  blast. 

And  plashing  fell  the  rain ; 
Twas  like  to  shake  the  very  earth, 
And  woe  to  that  doomed  household  hearth, 
Which  check'd  not  reyelry  and  mirth 

In  waterkelpie's  reign ! 

The  large  rivulet,  or  stream,  called  Eerbet,  takes  its  rise  in 
Dilty  Moss,  in  the  parish  of  Carmylie,  seven  miles  to  the 
eastward  of  Einnettles  and  falls  into  the  Dean,  as  already 
noticed,  before  its  junction  with  the  Isla.  In  summer  it 
flows  gently  on  in  its  placid  course,  but  after  a  thaw  in  a 
winter  storm,  it  swells  to  an  almost  incredible  extent,  the 
low-lying  fields  and  meadow-land  being  inundated  by  its 
impetuous  torrent. 

The  Hill  of  Elinnettles,  rising  to  the  height  of  356  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  sea,  adds  greatly  to  the  beauty  of  the 
parish.  The  view  from  the  top  is  extensive,  and  very 
beautiful  This  hill  is  one  of  the  detached  Sidlaw  Hills,  and 
is  also  sometimes  called  the  Hill  of  Brigton. 

firigton,  immediately  adjoining  the  village,  with  its  rich 
haughs  and  meadows,  and  beautifully-clustering  sylvan  woods, 
and  the  winding  Kerbet  sweetly  flowing  through  its  midst, 
ia  a  deeply-interesting  and  lovely  spot.  Many  a  day,  in  the 
bright  and  gladsome  days  of  youth,  have  I  rambled  among 
its  sheltered  glades,  listening  with  ecstatic  joy  to  the  gushing 
melody  of  the  happy  birds,  combined  in  softest  harmony  with 
the  low,  quiet  song  of  the  gently-flowing  river.  These  are 
smmy  memories,  which  no  cloud,  however  dark,  in  after-life, 
can  ever  obliterate  or  obscure. 

Kinnettles,  during  the  life-time  of  its  late  parochial  school- 


24  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

master,  Mr  Daniel  Robertson,  enjoyed  a  wide-spread  reputa- 
tion for  the  high-class  education  of  its  "  wee  school,"  many 
of  his  pupils  becoming  in  after-life  eminently  successful,  and 
some  achieving  fame  in  the  several  arenas  of  science,  com- 
merce, and  literature.  Modem  innovations  have,  howerer, 
swept  away  the  sacred  landmarks  so  dear  to  his  heart,  and  so 
fondly  cherished  by  his  pupils.  The  schoolhouse  and  school 
have  been  ruthlessly  levelled  to  the  ground,  but  the  associa- 
tions thereof  cannot  be  extinguished;  and  the  place  where 
once  the  humble  seminary  stood  is  ever  eloquent  to  us  the 
same. 

Poor  Daniel  I  all  la  over  now. 

At  last  at  rest  in  peace  art  thou — 

Death  on  thee  sets  his  seal ; 
And  o'er  God's  acre,  lone,  below, 
Where  Ka*bet'8  waters  whispering  flow, 
They  bear  thee  grieving,  silent,  slow. 

To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 

All  is  over  now  ! — the  pawky  smile, 
The  simpering  laugb,  persiiasive  wile, 

The  energy  and  zeal. 
Desire  of  excellence,  pride  of  lore, 
Exciting  labour,  jojrs  of  yore — 
These  follow  not  beybnd  the  shore 

Of  the  land  o'  the  leaL 

There  are  several  very  old  grave-stones  in  the  churchyard, 
the  dates  on  which  go  back  to  an  early  period.  Some  of  these 
were  erected  to  the  memory  of  the  writer's  ancestors  several 
centuries  ago.  The  more  recently  erected  monuments  are  very 
handsome.  The  *^  ancient  mill,''  immediately  to  the  east  of  the 
village,  is  probably,  however,  the  oldest  relic  of  antiquity  in  the 
parish,  it  having  been  built  sometime  in  the  fifteenth  century. 
In  the  year  1478,  Andrew  Guthrie  of  that  Ilk  was  charged 
before  the  Lords  of  Council  '^  anent  a  mylne  biggit  on  the 
landis  of  Kyncaldrum,  and  holding  on  the  multers  of  the  corns 
of  the  samyn." — (Acta.  Dom.  Con.  5  ;  And.  69.)  The  barony 
of  Kincaldrum  adjoins  the  lands  of  Kinnettles,  the  G-uthries 
being  at  that  period  apparently  proprietors  of  both.     There  is 


KINNETTLES.  25 

every  reason  to  believe  the  above  allusion  to  the  "  mylne  biggit 
on  the  landis  of  Kiucaldrum"  refers  to  the  old  mill  on  the  Kerbet, 
immediately  to  the  east  of  Kinnettles.   Doubtless  the  building 
has  received  many  alterations  and  repairs,  and,  in  consequence, 
little  of  the  original  structure  may  remain.   To  the  writer  espe- 
cially, however,  it  is  still  an  object  of  the  most  absorbing  and 
affectionate  interest,  as  it  and  the  adjoining  farm  were  for  many 
generations  tenanted  by  his  ancestors,  as  neighbouring  home- 
steads are  occupied  by  their  descendants  to  the  present  day. 
An  antiquarian  relic  of  great  value,  however,  dug  up  by  the 
plough  in  a  grass  field  in  the  parish,  in  1833,  carries  us  back 
beyond  the  Christian  era.     This  was  an  **  upper  millstone  of 
a  hand  mill,  supposed  to  be  about  two  thousand  years  old.' 
It  is,  says  the  Rev.  Mr  Lunan,  formerly  minister  of  the  parish, 
— 2 J  inches  in  diameter,  1 J  inch  thick,  nearly  quite  circular, 
neatly  hewn  with  the  chisel,  and  displays  the  nicest  workman- 
ship around  the  small  circular  opening  in  the  centre.     The 
stone  of  which  it  is  composed  is  mica-schist,  has  a  leaden 
colour,  contains  a  mixture  of  silicious  spar,  and  is  thickly 
studded  with  small  garnets.      The  earliest  instrument  in 
combination  with  the  pestle,  for  grinding  corn,  appears  to 
have  been  the  mortar,  which,  in  process  of  time,  was  super- 
seded by  the  mola  mantmriay  or  handmill,  first  worked  by 
bondmen  and  bondwomen,   and  afterwards  by   oxen    and 
horses.     Strabo,  Vitruvius  and  other  classic  writers  inform 
us,  that  water-mills  were  introduced  in  the  reign  of  Julius 
CiBsar;    so    that  hand-miUs  had  probably  been   laid   aside 
sometime  before  the  Christian  era,  thus  proving  this  ancient 
relic  to  be  of  the  age  already  stated. 

Surrounded  rich  by  hill  and  dale, 
Midway  in  Brigton's  bonnie  vale. 

By  Kerbet  8  water's  still. 
Outside  the  little  village  street, 
Near  by  the  manse,  and  garden  neat, 
Is  seated  cosily  and  sweet, 

Kinnettles'  ancient  mill. 


26  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SGENKS  AND  LEGENDS. 

0  yery  quaint  it  is^  and  old ; 
A  pedant  he,  and  very  bold, 

Who  dared  its  age  to  tell ; 
For,  grej  and  hoary  though  it  be, 
And  sad  its  battered  state  to  see, 
The  mill-wheel  goes  so  steadily. 

And  does  its  work  so  well. 

That  antiquarian,  seer,  or  sage 
Ck>uld  neither  guess  nor  tell  its  age. 

With  an  approach  to  truth ; 
So  while  the  peasant  wondering  stares, 
Judicious  bit  by-bit  repairs 
Transform  its  aspect  unawares. 

And  oft  renews  its  youth. 

Ah !  ancient  mill,  though  far  from  thee, 
Btill  very  dear  art  thou  to  me. 

Nay,  never  art  forgot ; 
For  thou  our  name  in  days  of  yore. 
For  many  generations  bore ; 
Tis  known  there  now,  alas !  no  more, 

Still  sacred,  blessed  spot. 

My  sire's  and  grandsire's  birth-place  dear. 
Accept  the  tributary  tear, 

Which  far  from  thee  I  shed. 
Recalling  scenes,  narrations  rare, 
Of  eldrich  visions  in  the  air, 
Sepulchral  warnings  to  beware, 

And  visits  from  the  dead. 

So  thus,  like  April  hopes  and  fears 
There  cometh  sunshine  with  our  tears, 

From  thee,  0  ancient  mill : 
Good  luck  attend  thee  evermore, 
Have  melders  plenty  oft  in  store, 
The  miller  thrive  as  aye  before, 

My  blessing  with  thee  still. 


CHAPTER  IIL 

BRIOTON. 

Fftir  are  the  lawns  and  the  fields  of  sweet  Brigton, 

Suirounded  by  woodlands  so  green, 
The  sheep  feeding  rich  in  the  haugbs  and  the  meadows, 

The  river  meandering  between. 

Of  Brigton,  which  has  already  been  noticed,  and  which 
will  be  frequently  alluded  to  in  the  subsequent  chapters, 
more  particularly  in  the  "  Lily  of  The  Vale,"  it  may  suffice 
only  to  allude  further,  in  this  place,  to  the  strong  feelings  of 
high  regard  and  reciprocal  attachment  which  had  always 
been  entertained  by  the  members  of  the  Douglas  family,  and 
those  of  the  ancient  house  of  Guthrie ;  culminating  in  the 
legend  of  the  cruel  betrayal  of  the  Chief  of  the  latter  house, 
by  Miss  Douglas  of  Brigton. 

The  members  of  the  Douglas  family,  both  male  and  female, 
have  always  been  distinguished  for  their  love  of  field  sports, 
as  well  as  of  warlike  deeds.  Sir  David  Guthrie  of  Kincal> 
drum,  Treasurer  to  the  king,  and  their  near  neighbour,  after 
he  had  purchased  the  lands  of  Guthrie,  as  well  as  the  barony 
of  Lour,  laid  siege  to  the  heart  of  Miss  Douglas  of  Brigton, 
resolved  to  become  the  victor,  or  perish  in  the  attempt  Sir 
David  was  more  of  a  statesman  than  a  warrior,  his  mission 
lying  more  in  the  planning  and  directing  of  aggressive  or 
defensive  wars  in  the  cabinet,  than  in  actual  deeds  of 
heroism  on  the  field  of  battle.  Miss  Douglas,  on  the 
contrary,  inheriting  all  the  warlike  genius  of  her  race, 
revelled  with  unbounded  enthusiasm  in  the  glowing  descrip- 
tions of  military  prowess,  of  which  historians  wrote  and 
poets  sung,  the  bravest  of   the  brave  fondly  winning  her 


28  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

sweetest  and  most  approving  smiles,  and  coming  the  nearest 
to  the  sensitive  outworks  of  her  impulsive  heart. 

Although  of  very  different  temperaments,  the  chief  of  the 
Guthries  effectually  wooed  and  won  the  beautiful  and 
accomplished  Lady  of  Brigton ;  and  every  preparation  had 
been  made  for  the  fitting  celebration  of  the  approaching 
nuptials  of  the  happy  pair.  Alas !  the  course  of  true  love 
seldom,  if  ever,  runs  always  smooth.  Sir  David,  on  his  way 
to  a  distant  tournament,  rode  up  one  fine  summer  morning 
to  Brigton's  hospitable  gates,  to  bid  his  ladye-love  a 
temporary  adieu.  Either  from  her  impulsive  mind  having 
otherwise  undergone  a  change,  or  stung  with  contempt  at 
the  pusilanimous  conduct  of  her  carpet  lover,  in  preferring 
the  childish  sport  of  the  tournament,  and  the  smiles  of  the 
Queen  of  Beauty,  to  the  manlier  warfare  of  the  battle-field, 
and  the  ringing  shouts  of  well-earned  victory,  she  cruelly 
taunted  Sir  David  with  his  effeminate  conduct,  and  indirectly 
charged  him  with  lack  of  courage  and  patriotism  in  that  the 
day  of  Scotland's  sorest  trial  Be  that  as  it  may,  her 
censure  had  the  immediate  effect  of  changing  the  purposes 
of  her  lover,  and  so  effectually,  that  instead  of  proceeding  to 
the  tournament,  he  buckled  on  his  armour,  and  hastened  to 
give  proof  of  his  courage  and  valour  in  the  field  of  battle ; 
returning  from  the  wars,  however,  only  to  find  his  afBanced 
bride  the  wife  of  another ! : — 

Castle  Guthrie. 

In  plume  and  doublet  rides  the  knight, 

On  a  Bummer  morning  early, 
Of  noble  bearing,  comely  face, 

His  steed  cap'risoned  rarely. 

And  loud  he  knocks  at  Brigton's  gates, 
The  warder  asking  sternly  : — 
"  From  whence  come  you  ?"— Sir  David  cries — 
"  I  come  from  Castle  Guthrie. 

**  Go  quickly,  tell  your  Ladye  fair, 
I  would  her  see  thus  early, 


I  to  the  tournament  away. 
And  cannot  longer  tarry. 


n 


BRIGTON.  29 

The  Ladye  looks  from  her  lattice  high. 
Her  lover  gazing  fondly — 
"  The  Guthrie  would  the  Douglas  wed  ? 
Back  hie  to  Castle  Guthrie. 

"  Aside  your  tilting  trappings  throw. 
Your  armour  buckle  fairly, 
The  wars  !  the  wars  !  haste  to  the  fray, 
Then,  having  suffered  sairly, 

"  And  won  your  spurs  by  noble  deeds, 
You  ever  fighting  bravely. 
Come  back  and  claim  yotir  willing  bride — 
Then,  ho  !  for  Castle  Guthrie  !" 

Forth  to  the  wars  Sir  David  went, 

His  pride  and  love  taxed  sorely, 
The  foremost  ever  in  the  fight, 

His  spurs  he  won  right  bravely. 

Now  homeward  speeds  he  proud  in  haste, 

To  claim  his  bride,  right  fairly, 
Upon  her  own  conditions  won — 

All  hail  to  Castle  Guthrie  ! 

"  What  sounds  are  these  in  Brigton*8  halls, 

Of  revelry  thus  early  ?" 
*'  Tis  e'en  our  Ladye's  nuptial  day, " 

Leer'd  the  warder  very  glibly. 

In  haste  again  Sir  David  sped 

To  the  wars  now  raging  fiercely — 
In  battle  slain,  ne'er  saw  again 

His  own  loved  Castle  Guthrie  ! 

Centuries  afterwards,  however,  the  two  houses  were  united  in 
marriage,  in  the  persons  of  the  late  laird  of  Guthrie,  and 
Miss  Anne  Douglas;  who,  both  living  to  a  great  age,  died 
within  a  few  weeks  of  each  other,  and  might  be  said  conse- 
quently, to  have  been  buried  in  one  grave :  lovely  in  their 
lives,  in  their  deaths  they  were  not  divided. 

The  new  Episcopal  Church,  Forfar,  contains  a  fine  stained 
glass  window,  put  up  at  the  expense  of,  and  thus  inscribed  by, 
the  present  laird  of  Guthrie : — 

"In  Honorem  Dei,  et  Memoriam  Joannis  Gvthrie,  de 
Gvthrie,  Arm :  Qui  Obiit,  12  Nov.  1845.  -ffitatis  svjb  82. 
Atqve  in  Memoriam  Annse  Dovglas,  Conjvgis  ejvs,  Qvse 
Obiit,  2  Dec.  1845.    Mtatia  svse  75." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

LEGEND  OF  1"HE  FIRST  CASTLE  OF  CLAMIS. 

How  rich  with  legends  is  our  land  ! 
Its  hills  and  dales  and  rock-girt  strand — 
Each  doth  its  dread,  mysterious  tale. 
Low  ominous  whisper  in  the  gale : 
The  scowling  loop-holed  donjon  keep, 
The  frowning  walls  that  round  it  sweep, 
The  mouldering  castle,  grey  and  grim, 
All  chant  some  sad  funereal  hymn. 

How  varied,  and  antagonistic  to  each  other,  are  the  impres- 
sions produced  on  differently  constituted  minds  by  the  out- 
ward aspects  of  nature,  or  by  the  historical  traditions  of  an 
ancient,  classical  land  like  our  own !  Some  expatiate  on  the 
richness  of  the  fields,  their  high  state  of  cultivation,  and  the 
comparative  produce  they  yield  in  return  for  the  diligent 
labours  of  the  scientific  and  skilful  husbandman.  Others 
exult  in  the  splendid  garniture  of  the  straths  and  valleys, 
aglow  with  the  golden  tints  of  autumnal  fruitage,  without  one 
passing  thought  as  to  the  probable  yi§ld  per  acre  of  barley, 
oats,  or  wheat  Many,  while  gazing  on  the  far-stretching 
forests,  or  on  the  heath  and  grass-covered  hills,  only  calculate 
on  the  capabilities  of  the  one  for  the  building  of  so  many 
ships,  or  speculate  on  the  capacities  of  the  other  to  rear  and 
fatten  so  many  sheep ;  while  the  poetical  few  luxuriate  only 
in  the  loveliness  of  the  waving  woodlands,  ringing  out  their 
joyous  chimes  to  fill  the  soul  with  melody,  or,  in  a  wild 
transport  of  luxurious  rapture,  enjoy  with  a  passionate  delight 
the  beauty  of  the  landscape,  in  all  its  variety  of  hill,  and  dale 
and  breezy  upland,  alive  with  the  Meeting  of  lamba,  and 


LEGEND  OF  THE  FIRST  CASTLE  OF  GLAMIS.  31 

vocal  with  the  songs  of  children  and  of  birds.  Some  regard 
with  holy  reverence  the  traditionary  lore  of  our  country,  and 
are  more  engrossed  with  the  mere  romance  of  the  legend  than 
with  its  strict  historical  accuracy.  Others,  not  content  with 
ransacking  musty,  moth-eaten  parchments  and  chronicles,  and 
grubbing  laboriously  amongst  the  deMs  of  decaying  anti- 
quarian relics,  must  needs  throw  doubts,  if  not  direct  discredit, 
on  every  startling  and  romantic  incident  which  does  not 
square  with  their  prosaic  ideas,  or  strictly  harmonise  with  the 
dry  and  literal  interpretation  of  history. 

What  is  it  that  constitutes  the  grand  difference  between 
the  scenery  of  the  Western  Hemisphere  and  that  of  our  own 
beloved  land )  Is  it  not  the  associations,  historical  and  other- 
wise, that  encompass  the  land  at  every  point,  like  a  starry 
atmosphere  of  refulgent,  unfading  glory  1  The  prairies  of 
America  may  be  more  vast;  her  forests  may  cover,  in  all 
their  primeval  grandeur,  an  immeasurably  greater  extent  and 
variety  of  space ;  her  mountains  may  soar  to  a  loftier  altitude, 
approaching  nearer  the  gates  of  the  Celestial  City,  and  the 
throne  of  the  Great  Eternal ;  her  rivers  may  flow  on  in  their  • 
stately  course  in  mightier  volume,  and  with  greater  majesty 
of  power ;  her  lakes  may  be  more  capacious,  and  her  cataracts 
more  ravishingly  sublime.  What  of  that?  There  is  not  a 
valley,  forest,  mountain,  or  glen ;  there  is  not  a  river,  a  lake, 
a  cascade,  or  a  bum  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the 
Highlands  and  Lowlands  of  Scotland  but  hath  each  its  separ- 
ate history — its  tale  of  love,  of  war,  romance,  or  song — con- 
necting the  present  with  the  past  in  a  mystic,  weird-like 
chain,  whose  golden  links  stretch  far  away  in  traditionary 
indistinctness  to  the  remote  and  fabulous  ages  of  antiquity. 
Nay,  there  is  not  a  moss-covered  stone  in  the  plain,  a  rugged 
cairn  upon  the  hill,  a  willowed  or  birch-shaded  streamlet  in 
the  glen,  or  a  lonely  tarn  in  the  bosom  of  the  mist-enshrouded 
mountidn  but  tell  us,  as  in  a  [dream,  some  wondrous 
legend  of  imaginative  mystery  or  thrillingly-bewitching  story 
of  chase,  foray,  or  daring,  gallant  deeds  of  wild,  romantic 
chivalry. 


32  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

And  what  of  the  old,  grey  ivy-mantled  castles  which  stud 
the  lovely  glens,  and  perch,  like  the  eyry  of  the  eagle,  on  the 
rugged  slopes  of  the  rocky  hills,  or  on  the  surf-beaten  lofty 
cliffs  by  the  ever-surging  sea  ?  What  of  the  mouldering 
ruins — still  beautiful  in  their  premature  decay — of  the  abbeys, 
the  monasteries,  the  ancient  houses  of  God,  which  throw 
around  their  holy  shrines  a  rainbow  instructive  radiance  of 
the  never-to-be-forgotten  past?  What  of  the  still  existing 
magnificent  cathedrals,  with  their  noble  proportions  of 
transept,  nave,  and  pillared  aisle;  their  delicate  tracery  of 
sculptured  choir  and  frescoed  dome ;  their  internal  garniture 
of  matchless  splendour,  and  their  external  surroundings  of 
majestic  tower  and  lofty  spire  1 

Each  hath  its  intensely  interesting  associations ;  each  hath 
its  authentic,  undying  history.  From  the  weird  old  castles, 
hoary  with  age — from  the  depths  of  their  donjon  keeps,  from 
the  heights  of  their  battlemented  towers — still  come  the  rolling 
peals  of  martial  music,  the  fitful  strains  of  the  minstrel  harp, 
and  the  loud  wassail  roar  of  the  midnight  revel,  all  softly 
blent  with  the  low-whispered  roundelay  issuing  sweetly  from 
the  boudoirs  of  ladyes  fair  in  the  witching  twilight  of  summer 
eves.  From  the  mouldering  abbeys,  as  well  as  from  the 
existent  cathedrals,  arise  alike  the  thunder-notes  of  the  organ, 
and  the  softly-chanted  songs  of  the  white-robed  choir.  The 
aromatic  incense  still  fragrantly  perfumes  the  morning  air, 
and  the  rolling  anthems  re-echo  back,  as  of  old,  from  the 
distant  sky. 

The  associations  1  They  remain  for  ever  I  Gold  will  not 
buy  them;  time  cannot  destroy  them;  new  places  cannot 
bribe  them.    From  the  old  they  never  can  be  separated. 

Ye  Goths  and  Vandals,  do  your  worst?  Uproot  each 
sacred  vestige  to  faithful  memory's  eye  most  dear ;  raze,  raze 
the  well-remembered  walls;  waft,  scatter  rude  to  merciless^ 
devastating  blasts  each  palace  hall  and  hospitable  roof! 
Associations  mock,  defy  your  power;  the  heart's  affections 
laugh  your  wrath  to  scorn !    Ye  cannot  still  the  echoes  of  the 


LEGEND  OF  THE  FIRST  CASTLE  OF  GLAMIS.  33 

past — gag,  silence  memory's  hallowed  voice — ^rude  hush  the 
heavenly  music  of  these  holy,  cherished  songs ! 

In  accompanjdng  me,  therefore,  through  the  classical  and 
traditional  region  of  Strathmore,  I  wish  the  reader  not  to  be 
too  exacting  in  regard  to  places  and  dates,  nor  too  rigidly 
examine  into,  and  prosaically  compare  the  startling  legendary 
^  incidents  narrated  with  the  pretended  revelations  of  un- 
authenticated  history. 

It  is  essential  ever  to  bear  in  mind,  while  descanting  on 
events  so  remote,  that  the  earlier  period  of  the  history  of 
Scotland  is  involved  in  great  obscurity;  that  the  first 
historical  chronicles  were  compiled  by  the  unlettered  monks, 
chiefly  from  oral  tradition ;  and  that  the  oldest  history  of 
Scotland  extant  is  of  a  comparatively  recent  date.  John 
Fordoun,  a  canon  of  Aberdeen,  who  flourished  in  the  four- 
teenth century,  was  the  writer  of  the  first  history  of  Scotland  ; 
and,  although  Hailes  and  Chalmers  have  somewhat  dispeUed 
the  darkness  which  had  so  long  overhung  the  early  period  of 
Scottish  history,  their  discoveries  must  necessarily  be  still 
received  with  extreme  caution,  if  not  with  pardonable  doubt. 
It  may  be  assumed,  therefore,  that  I  have  no  sjnnpathy  with 
those  who  would  obscure  the  golden  radiance  of  our  legendary 
lore,  or  sacrilegiously  attempt  to  obliterate  the  landmarks  of 
poetry  and  song.  In  the  hurry  and  excitement  of  this 
tumultuous  and  practically  progressive  age,  let  us  admire  and 
reverence  the  more  the  sacred  impositions  of  genius,  and  cling 
with  the  greater  fondness  and  tenacity  to  the  loved  and  hal- 
lowed associations  of  the  past.  Premonitions  are  not  awant- 
ing  that  the  termination  of  the  waning  era  of  romance  too 
assuredly  draweth  nigh.  Let  us  not  unfeelingly  hasten  pre- 
maturely the — bitter  end. 

Although  record  shows  that  the  present  Castle  of  Glamis 
was  not  begun  to  be  built  until  the  time  of  the  first  Earl  of 
Kinghorn  in  1578,  yet  for  ages  before  the  existence  of 
written  records,  and  claiming  remote  antiquity,  there  was  a 
castle  and  royal  residence  of  considerable  extent  within  the 

0 


34  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

parish.  It  is  quite  certain  there  was  a  hill  fort  upon  an 
isolated  rocky  eminence  in  the  Glen  of  Denoon,  in  the 
Sidlaw  district  of  the  parish.  This  glen,  altogether,  is  a  very 
lovely  and  romantic  spot,  reposing  calmly  among  the  bleak 
and  barren  hills,  and  forming  a  pleasant  contrast  to  the 
gorgeous  luxuriance  of  the  "  Great  Valley." 

A  sunny  nook  of  Highland  glen 

Peeps  out  behind  yon  mossy  den. 

Lone  spot !  enshrined  'mong  heather  hills, 

And  watered  fresh  by  mountain  rillB, 

In  modest  loveliness  afar, 

Thou  shinest  bright,  like  distant  star. 

The  rosy  morning  glad  to  greet. 

In  all  thy  loneliness — how  sweet  1 

The  Hill  of  Denoon  is  steep,  and  of  considerable  height, 
one  side  of  the  rock  being  nearly  perpendicular,  while  the 
other  sides  are  of  tolerably  easy  ascent  A  stone  wall,  eight 
or  nine  feet  in  thickness,  is  carried  obliquely  round  the  Hill, 
encircling  a  space  of  340  or  350  yards  in  circumference. 
Within  this  semi-circular  and  extensive  rampart,  there  are 
scattered  vestiges  of  the  foundations  of  an  immense  castel- 
lated edifice,  with  traces  of  several  entrances  in  the  external 
walls.  It  is  to  this  Castle,  therefore,  the  following  short 
legend  refers. 

Eight  hundred  years  have  rolled  away  since  the  erection 
of  the  first  Castle  of  Glamis ;  yet  from  the  darkness,  turmoil, 
and  strife  of  that  early  time  comes,  weird-like,  a  legend's 
muffled  chime. 

The  Hill  of  Denoon  was  at  that  remote  period  accounted 
sacred  or  haunted  ground.  It  was  the  mythical  abode  of  the 
elfins  and  fairies,  and  formerly  a  fitting  haunt  for  their 
midnight  revelries. 

When  the  silvery  moonbeams  lovingly  slept  in  dreamy 
beauty  on  the  green  slopes  of  the  enchanted  Hill,  and  the 
blue  bells  and  the  purple  heather  were  wet  with  the  dew  of 
angels'  tears,  arrayed  in  gossamer  robes  of  bespangled  gold, 
with  wands  of  dazzling  sheen  and  lances  of  magical  bright- 


LEGEND  OF  THE  FIRST  CASTLE  OF  6LAMI&  35 

ness,  would  the  troops  of  elfins  flaontingly  dance  to  the 
music  of  the  zeph3rrs,  until  the  shrill  cry  of  the  chanticleer 
put  an  end  for  the  time  to  their  mystical  enchantments. 

Suddenly,  as  in  blue  clouds  of  vapour,  they  noiselessly 
vanished  away,  no  sound  remaining  to  break  the  oppressive 
stillness,  save  that  of  the  mountain  rivulet,  as  it  fretfully 
leapt  from  crag  ,'to  crag,  as  if  piteously  regretting  the 
mysterious  departure  of  its  ethereal  visitors. 

Having  forsworn  the  presence  and  companionship  of  the 
terrestrial  inhabitants  of  earth,  it  was  a  sacred  dictum  in  the 
code  of  the  fairies  that  no  habitation  for  human  beings  should 
be  permitted  to  be  built  within  the  hallowed  precincts  of  the 
enchanted  ground.  Unable  of  themselves  to  guard  against 
such  sacrilegious  encroachment,  they  had  recourse  to  the  aid 
of,  and  formed  a  secret  compact  with  the  demons,  or  evil 
spirits,  whose  sole  avocation  consisted  in  doing  mischief, 
and  bringing  trouble  and  misfortune  on  those  under  the  ban 
of  their  displeasure.  By  this  compact  these  evil  spirits 
became  solemnly  bound  to  prevent  any  human  habitation 
whatever  from  being  erected  on  the  hill,  and  to  blast  in  the 
bud  any  attempts  whensoever  and  by  whomsoever  made  to 
break  this  implacable,  unalterable  decree. 

It  was  about  this  time  the  alarm-note  was  sounded,  as  the 
Queen  of  the  Fairies,  who,  with  an  eye  more  observant  than 
the  rest  of  her  compeers,  observed  one  evening  in  the  moon- 
light, certain  indications  of  the  commencement  of  a  human 
habitation.  Horror  and  dismay  were  instantly  pictured  on 
the  feir  countenances  of  the  masquerading  troops  of  merry 
dancers  as  the  awful  truth  was  ominously  revealed  to  them 
by  the  recent  workmanship  of  hmnan  hands. 

A  council  of  war  was  immediately  held,  when  it  was 
determined  to  summon  at  once  the  guardian  spirits  to  their 
aid  and  protection. 

"  By  our  sacred  compact,"  cried  the  Queen,  "  I  command 
the  immediate  attendance  of  all  the  demons  and  evil  spirits 
of  the  air,  to  avenge  the  insult  now  offered  to  the  legions  of 


36  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Fairyland,  and  to  punish  the  sacrilegious  usurpers  who  dare 
infringe  the  sanctity  of  their  mystical  domains." 

These  demons  instantly  obeyed  the  haughty  summons,  and, 
in  the  presence  of  those  they  had  sworn  to  protect,  they  in  a 
twinkling  demolished  the  structure,  hurling  the  well-propor- 
tioned foundations  over  the  steep  rock  into  the  vale  beneath  ! 

The  builder,  doubtless  very  much  surprised  and  chagrined 
when  he  returned  to  his  work  in  the  early  dawn  of  the 
following  morning,  was  sorely  puzzled  to  account  for  the 
entire  disappearance  of  the  solid  foundations  of  the  great 
castle  he  intended  to  be  erected  on  the  HilL  He  did  not, 
however,  waste  much  time,  or  use  much  philosophic  argument 
on  the  matter,  and  gave  orders  to  prepare  new  foundations 
of  even  a  more  durable  character. 

The  demons,  to  show  their  invincible  power,  and  for  the 
sake  of  more  effect,  allowed  the  new  foundations  to  rise  a 
degree  higher  than  the  former,  before  they  gave  out  their 
fiat'  of  destruction.  In  an  instant,  however,  they  were  again 
demolished,  and  the  builder — this  time  gravely  assigning 
some  fsLtal  shock  of  Nature  as  the  cause  of  the  catastrophe — 
quietly  resolved  to  repair  the  damage  by  instantly  preparing 
new  and  still  more  solid  foundations. 

Additional  and  more  highly  skilled  workmen  were 
engaged,  and  everything  for  a  time  went  favourably  on,  the 
walls  of  the  castle  rising  grandly  to  view  in  all  the  solidity 
and  beauty  of  the  favourite  architecture  of  the  period. 

Biding  their  time,  the  demons  again  ruthlessly  swept  away 
as  with  a  whirlwind  every  vestige  of  the  spacious  halls, 
razing  the  solid  massy  foundations  so  e£fectually  that  not  one 
stone  was  left  upon  another  ! 

Things  were  now  assuming  a  rather  serious  aspect  for  the 
poor  builder,  who,  thinking  Uiat  he  had  at  last  hit  upon  the 
true  cause  of  these  successive  disasters,  attributed  his  mis- 
fortunes to  the  influence  of  evil  spirits.  A  man  of  courage 
and  a  match,  as  he  imagined,  for  all  the  evil  spirits  of 
Pandemonium,  supposing  they  were  let  loose  at  once  against 


LEGEND  OF  THE  FIRST  CASTLE  OF  GLAMIS.  37 

him  by  the  Prince  of  Darkness,  he  unhesitatingly  resolved  to 
keep  watch  and  ward  on  the  following  night,  and  to  defy  all 
the  hosts  of  hell  to  prevent  him  rebuilding  the  projected 
edifice.     The  night  expected  came ;  but,  alas,  alas ! — 

His  courage  failed  when  on  the  blast 
A  demon  swift  came  howling  past, 
Loud  screeching  wild  and  fearfully, 
This  ominous,  dark,  prophetic  cry — 
'*  Build  not  on  this  enchanted  ground  ! 
"Tis  sacred  all  these  hills  around  ; 
«  Go  build  the  castle  in  a  bog, 

Where  it  will  neither  shake  nor  shog  ! " 


CHAPTER   V. 

LEGEND  OF  THE  FIRST  LTON  OF  6LAMIS. 

The  clans  and  chiefs  allegiance  bring, 
For  Robert  Stuart  is  Scotland's  king, 
Who,  by  his  cousin,  Rowallan  fair 
Had  daughters  famed  for  beauty  rare ; 
But  ne*er  was  comelier  maiden  seen, 
More  graceful,  fair,  than  Ladye  Jean. 

The  genealogy  of  the  Stuart  family,  though  the  theme  of 
many  a  fable,  has  by  late  antiquarians  been  distinctly  traced 
to  the  great  Anglo-Norman  family  of  Fitz-Allan,  in  England. 
Walter  Fitz-Allan  in  David  the  First's  time,  held  the  high 
office  of  Seneschal  or  Steward  of  'the  King's  household.  This 
title  was  afterwards  converted  into  a  surname,  and  used  as  such 
by  his  descendants.  It  was  the  sixth  High-Steward  in  succes- 
sion who  married  Marjory,  the  daughter  of  Robert  the  Bruce  ; 
and  to  their  only  child,  the  seventh  Lord  High-Steward,  the 
Crown  of  Scotland  descended,  on  the  extinction  of  the  Bruoe's 
line  in  his  only  son,  David  II.  This  monarch's  reign  was  in- 
augurated at  Scone,  27th  March  1371,  and  it  is  to  him  the 
legend  of  the  First  Lyon  of  Glamis  refers. 

The  coronation  of  Robert  II.  having  been  celebrated  with 
great  pomp  and  magnificence  at  Scone,  the  Court  proceeded  to 
the  Castle  of  Stirling — then  the  favourite  residence  of  royalty 
— to  keep  high  holiday  in  commemoration  of  the  event.  On 
receiving  the  hand  of  the  Princess  Euphemia  in  marriage,  the 
Earl  of  Douglas  at  once  abandoned  his  claim  to  the  throne, 
and  the  clans  and  their  warrior  chiefs,  as  well  as  the  lowland 
nobles,  flocked  in  great  numbers  to  the  Castle  to  pay  their 
willing  allegiance  to  their  lawful  king.     Tourneys  and  feasting 


LEGEND  OF  THE  FIRST  LYON  OF  GLAMIS.  39 

were,  for  a  time,  the  order  of  the  day,  the  flower  of  the 
Scottish  nobility,  with  many  a  titled  dame  of  high  degree, 
gaily  mingling  in  the  gorgeous  and  happy  throng. 

The  six  daughters  of  the  King  by  his  first  marriage  with 
his  cousin  of  Eowallan,  famed  for  their  grace  and  comely 
beauty,  received  by  universal  acclaim  the  spontaneous  homage  as 
the  most  beautiful  in  all  that  beautiful  and  courtly  assemblage. 
Ladye  Jean,  the  youngest  of  the  Princesses,  by  her  graceful 
deportment,  winning  manners,  and  peculiarly  Scottish  type  of 
expression,  was,  however,  jpar  excellence  the  Queen  of  Beauty. 

The  two  principal  State  pages  who  waited  on  the  Court 
were  Sir  James  Lindsay  and  Sir  John  de  Lyon.  Sir  James 
was  of  stem,  cold,  haughty  demeanour,  which  somewhat 
detracted  from  the  grace  of  his  soldierly  and  handsome  person, 
De  Lyon  was  a  youth  of  a  very  graceful  and  comely  person 
courteous  and  complaisant  in  his  manner,  and  a  great  favourite 
with  the  King,  to  whom  he  acted  also  in  the  capacity  of 
private  secretary. 

These  two  royal  pages  were,  unknown  to  each  other, 
both  passionately  in  love  with  Ladye  Jean.  So  carefully, 
however,  had  they  concealed  their  thoughts  each  from  the 
other,  that  no  jealous  rivalry  had  ever  entered  their  breasts;  so 
they  kept  no  watch  or  ward  on  each  other's  movements,  which 
otherwise  they  would  have  done,  to  an  extent,  perhaps, 
sufficient  to  endanger  their  mutual  friendship  and  esteem. 

Queen  Euphemia  kept  so  strict  surveillance  over  the 
Princesses  that  they  seldom  went  beyond  the  Castle  waUs ; 
and  even  in  the  palace  the  ever-watchful  eye  of  the  Queen  was 
constantly  upon  them,  their  slightest  movement  escaping  not 
her  notice.  De  Lyon,  who  was  yet  in  ignorance  of  the  real 
feelings  of  Ladye  Jean  towards  him,  naturally  chafed  under 
the  restraint  to  which  the  Princesses  were  subjected,  because 
he  was  thereby  deprived  of  any  opportunity  to  make  a  declar- 
ation of  his  love. 

The  page,  therefore,  took  a  sudden  resolution,  beneath 
which  was  artfully  concealed  the  real  purpose  he  had  in  view. 


40  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Full  of  his  deceptive  mission,  De  Lyon  one  evening  took 
his  thoughtful  yet  solitary  way  along  the  gloomy  corridors  of 
the  Castle,  and  having  reached  the  Armoury  Tower,  the 
favourite  resort  of  the  Lindsay,  he  gently  knocked  for  admis- 
sion. The  ponderous  door  was  instantly  opened  by  Sir  James 
who  courteously  greeted  his  unexpected  visitor. 

"  Thou  oughtst  to  have  been  an  Abbot,  Sir  James,"  said 
Lyon,  playfully,  "  delighting  thus  in  monkish  solitude.  The 
gloomy  cloisters  of  a  monastery  would  be  a  more  appropriate 
residence  for  thee  than  the  stately  halls  of  a  royal  palace.  Is 
not  the  bracing  mountain  air  more  lusciously  sweet  than  the 
tainted  atmosphere  of  courtly  boudoirs,  where  royal  dames^ 
held  captive,  can  only  sigh,  and  mourn,  and  weep,  protesting 
by  their  tears  against  such  monastic  surveillance  1" 

''  What  means  this  jesting,  John  de  Lyon )  Knowest  thou 
not  the  difference  in  rank  there  is  between  us  ?  While  thou 
art  but  an  obscure  scion  of  an  obscure  house,  the  blue  blood  of 
royalty  flows  in  my  veins.  The  King  is  my  kinsman,  and 
as  yestreen  I  mingled  in  the  gay  and  brilliant  assembly  in 
the  banquet  hall,  I  knew  the  Princesses  were  my  near  rela- 
tions— ^my  cousins,  if  thou  wouldst  have  the  truth  told  thee 
again  to  remind  thee  of  thy  inferior  rank." 

The  proud,  disdainful  manner  of  Lindsay,  and  the  haughty, 
scornful  tone  in  which  these  words  were  uttered,  brought  the 
blood  to  Lyon's  cheek,  and  sunk  deep  into  his  heart — the  first 
feeling  called  up  in  his  soul  being  that  of  resentment  for  the 
undeserved,  contemptuous  insult.  This  feeling,  however, 
speedily  vanished  when  he  remembered  Ladye  Jean;  and, 
earnestly  intent  on  his  unsuspected  mission,  he  broke  the 
ominous  silence  thus — 

"Tis  of  the  Princesses  I  would  speak  with  thee.  Nay, 
brave  Lindsay,  be  not  uncourteous  even  to  thy  inferior  in 
rank,  and  listen  calmly  to  what  I  have  to  reveal" 

"  Beveal  1  Then  at  thy  peril  keep  nothing  back.  Thou  to 
have  anything  to  reveal  in  regard  to  the  Princesses  is,  indeed. 


LEGEND  OF  THE  FIRST  LYON  OP  GLAMIS.  41 

to  me  a  mystery.  Proceed,  Lyon  ;  I  am  all  impatient  to  hear 
thy  pretended  revelation." 

"  Yes,  Sir  James,  it  is  of  thy  royal  cousins  I  would  speak," 
De  Lyon  boldly  replied.  "  The  surveillance  which  the  Queen 
so  strictly  exercises  over  the  Princesses  must  have  been 
noticed  and  deplored  by  one  so  deeply  interested  in  their 
welfare  and  happiness  as  the  brave  Lindsay,  from  whose 
society  they  are  even  debarred,  as  well  as  from  that  of  all 
frequenters  of  the  Court.  So  strict,  you  must  be  aware,  is 
their  captive  seclusion,  that  not  the  smallest  courtesy  can  be 
paid  to  them  by  any  about  the  Court." 

"  What  purpose,  Lyon,  hast  thou  in  view  1  '*  emphatically 
interrupted  the  Lindsay. 

"  That  the  royal  dames  should  have  more  liberty,  and  not 
thus  pine  in  solitary  seclusion,  like  sisters  of  mercy  in  a 
sainted  nunnery,"  Lyon  quickly  replied.  "The  Princesses 
are  young,  and  should  not  youthful  hearts  be  gay  1  Instead  of 
this  forced  seclusion  from  the  outer  world,  why  should  not 
they  be  free  as  the  mountain  winds  to  roam,  wherever  they 
may  list,  in  all  the  joyous  ecstacy  of  the  hey-day  of  their  exist- 
ence) Thou  art  their  kinsman;  to  the  King  make  this 
petition : — "  The  Princesses  are  unhappy,  sire,  in  the  strict 
seclusion  in  which  they  are  kept  in  their  palace  home — their 
wish  is  to  have  more  freedom  of  access  to  the  world  without. 
Grant  them  graciously,  my  King,  their  heart's  desire,  to  roam 
at  will  among  these  royal  halls,  and  over  the  sunny  slopes 
and  bree2y  hills  of  this  fair  region  of  romance  and  song,  and 
thus  bring  health,  and  strength,  and  gladness  to  their  grateful, 
loving  hearts." 

De  Lyon  had  struck  a  kindred  chord  in  the  unsuspecting 
heart  of  his  unknown  rival,  who,  throwing  off  his  partly 
assumed  haughtiness  of  manner,  very  courteously  and  kindly 
replied — 

''What  assurance  hast  thou,  Lyon,  that  Ladye  Jean — I 
mean    the  princesses,  my  cousins,   themselves   desire  this 


« 


« 


42  STRATHHOEE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

liberty  1    Art  thou  their  trusty  confidant  in  such  matters  1 — 
did  they  express  their  wishes  secretly  to  thee )  " 

Without  noticing  the  deep  searching  glance  of  Lindsay's 
eye  as  he  eagerly  made  the  important  inquiry,  and  pursuing 
the  advantage  he  had  gained,  the  page,  haLf-confusedly,  half- 
blushingly,  replied — 

"  I  am  not  the  confidant  of  the  Princesses,  brave  Lindsay, 
in  this  or  in  any  other  matter ;  but  I  can  truthfully  penetrate 
their  thoughts,  and,  without  any  communication  with  them 
personally,  can  propheticaUy  express  their  wishes.  To  the 
King,  Lindsay — ^his  Majesty  will  doubtless  most  willingly 
listen  to  thy  plaint,  and  graciously  grant  the  prayer  of  thy 
petition.'' 

"  I  faithfully  promise,  De  Lyon,"  warmly  replied  Sir  James, 
whose  lynx  eyes  failed  to  detect  aught  of  deceit  or  treachery, 
"  and  I  feel  that  His  Majesty's  love  for  the  happiness  of  his 
children  will  constrain  him  to  grant  the  coveted  boon." 

The  page,  overjoyed  and  proud  he  had  played  his  first 
desperate  card  in  the  game  so  well,  with  ill-suppressed  gaiety 
most  obsequiously  proffered  his  respectful  thanks  for  the 
courtesy  extended  to  him  by  the  now  mollified  and  gracious 
Lindsay. 

They  parted — both  firmly  resolved  to  push  unremittingly 
their  suit  with  Ladye  Jean ! 

His  heart  and  interest  being  in  the  matter,  Sir  James  most^ 
faithfully,  and  with  a  right  good  will,  kept  his  promise  to 
Lyon,  and  embraced  the  first  opportunity  to  lay  his  petition 
before  the  King ;  and  so  well  and  powerfully  did  he  plead 
their  cause,  that  His  Majesty,  to  the  great  joy  of  his  kinsman, 
most  graciously  agreed  that  the  Princesses  should  be  at  once 
freed  from  their  bondage,  and  allowed  to  roam  wherever  they 
listed,  taking  blame  at  the  sametime  to  himself  for  having  so 
long  allowed  the  Queen  to  keep  his  daughters  in  the  durance 
vile  of  a  convent  celL 

This  was  just  what  Lyon  in  his  inmost  heart  desired,  and 
as  his  duties  as  domestic  page  brought  him  oftener  into  the 


LEGEND  OF  THE  FIRST  LYON  OF  6LAMIS.  43 

presence  of  the  royal  dames  than  Lindsay,  he  had  determined 
within  himself  that  he  would  take  advantage  of  every  oppor- 
tunity to  prosecute  his  suit  with  Ladye  Jean.  In  the  fond 
dreamings  of  youthful  passion  there  is  infinitely  more  conveyed 
by  the  glance  of  the  eye  or  the  pressure  of  the  hand  than  in  all 
the  formal  declarations  of  mutual  feeling,  however  impassioned 
or  sincere ;  or  in  all  the  heaven-registered  vows  of  unalter- 
able affection  and  undying  love  in  which  the  doubtful  and 
mistrustful  so  fatally  indulge.  Lyon  therefore  knew,  before 
any  formal  declaration  of  his  love  had  been  made  to  Ladye 
Jean,  that  his  passion  was  reciprocated  by  the  Princess,  but  he 
still  anxiously  waited  for  a  fitting  opportunity  to  receive  her 
williDg  assent  to  his  suit. 

Ladye  Jean  was  alone  one  evening  in  her  favourite  boudoir, 
to  which  De  Lyon  stealthily  repaired,  and  on  bended  knee 
made  the  customary  obeisance.  He  slowly  raised  his  eyes  to 
those  of  the  Princess,  and  felt  that  his  passionate  love  was 
read  and  returned.  One  moment  more  and  they  were 
fervently  locked  in  each  other's  embrace,  avowing  their 
mutual  love,  and  declaring  unalterable  constancy  and  fidelity 
in  whatever  circumstances  might  intervene  before  the  full 
fruition  of  their  hopes. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  however,  no  sooner  was  the 
conquest  gained  than  dark  foreboding  fears  usurped  the  cruel 
mastery  in  De  Lyon's  mind ;  for  how  could  he,  an  obscure 
page,  successfully  aspire  to  the  hand  of  a  Princess,  and  willingly 
be  allowed  to  wed  the  favourite  child  of  a  proud  and  royal 
race?  True,  inter-marriages  had  frequently  taken  place 
between  sons  and  daughters  of  Scottish  Kings  and  the 
representatives  of  ancient  and  powerful  families,  but  John  De 
Lyon  had  neither  houses  nor  lands,  not  even  a  rood  of  ground 
he  could  call  his  own. 

The  arrival  at  this  juncture,  however,  of  a  polished  stranger 
from  the  Court  of  France  gave  a  new  and  darker  current  to 
the  thoughts  of  the  sorrowful  page.  This  courtier  was  none 
other  than  the  brave  Sir  Maurice  De  Gharoll6s,  famous  as  well 


44  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

for  his  conquests  amongst  the  fair  as  for  his  prodigies  of  valour 
in  the  field  of  battle.  His  stately  person,  courtly  mien,  and 
high  intellectual  attainments  made  him  a  general  favourite 
with  all,  but  especially  so  with  the  Princesses  and  ladyes  of  the 
Court.  At  the  stirring  chase,  as  well  as  in  the  banquet  hall, 
he  was  equally  successful  by  his  refined  and  captivating 
manner  in  winning  the  good  graces  of  the  fair.  Then,  at 
evening's  witching  hour,  when  the  ladyes  assembled  in  their 
tapestry-adorned  boudoirs,  would  the  practised  and  polished 
Frenchman  sing  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  harp  the  stir- 
ring songs  of  love  and  chivalry — 

Wliile  bosoms  heaved  the  stifled  sigh, 
And  ladyes  drooped  the  languid  eye. 

And  none  seemed  so  charmed  with  his  presence  and  courtl3r 
demeanour,  and  to  none,  apparently,  did  he  devote  so  much 
of  his  fascinating  attentions  as — Ladye  Jean  I 

All  the  movements  of  the  gallant  cavalier  had  been  closely 
watched  by  Lyon,  as  well  as  those  of  his  ladye-love,  but  just 
as  his  feelings  of  jealousy  had  assumed  the  determination  to 
seek  an  interview  with  Ladjre  Jean  on  the  subject,  the 
announcement  was  made  in  the  palace  that  previous  to  the 
*  departure  of  the  French  knight  he  had  desired  to  paint  not 
only  the  portraits  of  all  the  Princesses,  but  to  take  them  with 
him  to  the  French  Court.  This  openly  avowed  intention  of 
De  Charoll^s  confirmed  the  page's  suspicions,  and  intensified 
his  fears  lest,  under  this  device,  he  might  the  more  securely 
carry  out  his  covert  design  to  spirit  off  the  Ladye  Jean  herself 
to  France. 

Exasperated  by  the  apparent  artful  stratagems  of  the 
gallant  knight,  and  writhing  under  the  pangs  of  almost  hope- 
less despair,  he  sought  in  haste  his  ladye-love,  and  in  wild  and 
passionate  language  poured  into  her  ear  his  tale  of  jealous 
rivalry  and  gloomy,  dark  forebodings  as  to  their  future  destiny. 

The  Princess — ^ignorant  of  any  intrigue  or  deceit  on  her 
part — in  wild  amazement  confidingly  exclaimed — 

"  Is  there  no  hope,  De  Lyon — no  hope  1 " 


LEGEND  OF  THE  FIRST  LYON  OF  GLAMIS.  45 

"  Yes,  there  \a  hope,"  the  page  replied ;  "  a  plan  have  I 
matured  which,  if  properly  put  in  execution,  will  not  only 
avert  from  us  the  threatened  danger,  and  happily  result  in 
our  loving  betrothal,  but  upon  you  more  than  on  myself,  will 
depend  its  final  and  successful  issue." 

"  On  me,  more  than  on  yourself,  will  depend  the  successful 
issue  1"  rejoined  the  Princess.  "Some  ruse  or  artful 
stratagem,  I  fear.  Unfold  at  once  your  scheme,  De  Lyon, 
that  I  may  judge  of  its  fitness  to  promote  the  end  in  view." 

With  deep  and  bated  breath,  as  on  the  issue  hung  his 
future  fate,  did  Lyon,  with  the  warmest  protestations  of 
undying  love,  effectually  pave  the  way  for  the  expected 
revelation  of  his  self-lauded  plan,  and  then,  lowering  his 
thick  and  husky  voice  to  its  lowest  hollow  notes,  he  whispered 
in  the  lady's  ear  some  words  of  ominous  import — for,  quickly 
and  proudly  raising  her  indignant  head,  the  Princess  hastily 
replied — 

''  No !  such  foul  disgrace  shall  never  stain  the  unsullied 
honour  of  our  kingly  race.  Lyon,  I  love  thee — but  we  must 
part — now — for  ever.  Such  impure  thoughts  would  break 
my  bursting  heart.     Farewell ! " 

"  But  'tis  the  semblance,  love,  of  crime — not  crime  itself," 
entreatingly  replied  the  page,  seizing  affectionately  at  the 
same  time  the  hand  of  the  Princess  to  prevent  her  escape, 
while  he  passionately  continued — "  Time,  assuredly,  in  the 
end,  will  bring  our  coveted  reward,  and  to  the  Court  and  all 
the  world  most  clearly  and  effectually  prove  your  innocence." 

"  Never,  never ! "  replied  the  Princess  disdainfully,  thrusting 
away  his  hand.  "There's  not  a  dame  in  all  the  land, 
however  lowly  or  meanly  born,  but  would  scorn  such  a 
treacherous,  villanous  scheme,  and  indignantly  spurn  a  plan 
so  full  of  shame  and  dire  disgrace." 

"  Thou  dost  not  love  me,  Ladye  Jean,  "  in  a  highly 
assumed,  offended  tone,  the  page  rejoined.  "By  treachery 
and  stealth  some  other  knight  hath  gained  thy  love,  and  now, 
forsooth,  thou  art  glad  to  rid  thee  of  my  presence." 


46  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

**  Tis  false,  'tis  false !  Thy  daring  scheme  in  all  its  most 
minute  details  unfold,  and  though  it  may  require  the  heart 
of  a  lion  to  crown  it  with  victory,  that  bitter  taunt  I'll  prove 
was  to  me  most  cruel  and  undeserved." 

Lyon,  skilled  in  all  the  phased  of  the  human  heart,  now 
dexterously  pursued  the  advantage  he  had  gained,  and  in 
passionate  and  eloquent  terms  strove  to  reach  the  point  he 
had  hitherto  attempted  in  vain,  when,  to  his  great  joy,  the 
Princess  gradually  relented,  until  at  last  she  gave  her 
willing  consent  to  the  mysterious  compact. 

A  bold  scheme  assuredly  it  was  which  Lyon  had  conceived 
and  now  unfolded  to  the  Princess.  The  dark  proposal,  so 
full  of  risk  and  danger,  he  had  made  to  the  spotless  maiden, 
was  none  other  than  this — that  at  the  fit  season  she  should 
permit  the  slanderous  rumour  that  the  French  knight,  by 
wily,  flattering  tongue,  had  gained  the  mastery  over  her 
young  and  inexperienced  heart,  and  that  the  intrigue  would 
disgrace  the  hitherto  unimpeachable  honour  of  her  stainless 
race. 

"  But  art  thou  sure,"  abashed  and  doubtingly  inquired  the 
Princess,  "  that  when  the  dark  report  shall  reach  the  ear  of 
my  father  the  King,  he  will  listen  to  thy  proffered  plea,  and 
willingly  give  my  hand  to  thee  f  " 

"  Yes,  yes  I "  impetuously  replied  the  page,  "  although  thou 
dost  not  faYLy  comprehend,  the  end  will  be  in  reality  what 
we  wish.     Act  thou  thy  part — Farewell  I " 

"  Tis  well,"  rejoined  the  Princess,  sadly,  "  yet  how  in  my 
virgin  heart  of  innocence  I  loathe  the  despicable  plot. — 
Farewell  1 " 

The  time  fixed  upon  for  the  departure  of  De  Charoll6s  had 
now  arrived,  when,  in  courtly  terms  to  the  Court,  and 
gallant  adieux  to  the  ladyes  fair,  the  cavalier  took  his  leave, 
and,  attended  by  a  splendid  retinue,  he  disappeared  in  as  gay 
and  stately  a  manner  as  he  had  arrived. 

The  knight  had  not  been  long  gone  when  some  strange, 
undefined  sickness  confined  the  Ladye  Jean  to  her  own 


LEGEND  OF  THE  FIRST  LYON  OF  GLAMIS.  47 

apartments  in  the  Castle,  which  circumstance  coming  to  the 
expectant  ears  of  Lyon,  he  saw  the  time  for  action  had  come, 
and  that  not  a  moment  was  to  be  lost. 

"  Another  desperate  card  to  play,"  thought  the  artful  page, 
as  he  anxiously  bent  his  devious  way  through  the  tortuous 
corridors  of  the  Castle  to  the  distant  tower  on  the  ramparts, 
where  the  Lindsay  spent  his  evening  hours  in  solitary 
musings  on  camp  and  field. 

He  was  admitted  right  courteously  by  Sir  James,  who, 
however,  could  not  help  wondering  what  the  motive  might 
be  which  had  induced  this  midnight  visit,  and  the  more  so 
on  observing  the  sad  and  downcast  mien  of  the  page,  so 
different  from  his  usual  happy  and  joyous  temperament. 

De  Lyon  still  continuing  silent,  the  Lindsay,  amazed  at 
his  reticence,  very  kindly  asked  the  nature  of  his  errand. 

The  dissembling  page,  with  trembling  tongue  and  down- 
cast face,  at  once  confessed  the  dire  and  foul  disgrace  which 
he  by  his  guilty  amour  had  brought  on  the  Royal  house. 

"Nay — thou  art  dreaming,  Lyon,"  tenderly  the  Lindsay 
said.  "Best  thee  awhile  upon  this  silken  couch,  and  sing, 
as  thou  wert  wont  in  ladye's  bower  some  of  those  soil  and 
pensive  songs  of  chase  and  love  and  beauty,  more  congenial 
to  thy  nature  than  the  morose  orisons  of  the  cloister  or  the 
nunnery." 

The  page  still  downward  cast  his  troubled  eyes,  crimsoned 
and  blushed,  and  solemnly  averred  that  all  he  had  confessed 
was  true.  Then,  as  if  terrified  at  the  sound  his  fatal  words 
had  made,  he  shrunk  abashed  from  his  interrogator's 
presence. 

The  astonishment  and  rage  of  Lindsay  was  so  great  and 
overwhelming  for  the  moment,  that  his  words  were  hoarsely 
choked  in  his  throat  on  their  fiery  way  to  his  lips ;  so,  drawing 
his  trusty  sword,  he  was  about  wreaking  instant  vengeance, 
when  De  Lyon  exclaimed — 

"  Hold  1  hold  !  thy  sword  return  to  its  scabbard — listen 
to  me  calmly  for  a  moment,  and  I  will  show  thee  a  way 


48  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

whereby  thou  mayest  mercifully  screen  and  protect  the  guilty, 
and  bring  showers  of  gratitude  on  thyself  as  the  instrument 
thereof." 

De  Lyon  then  proposed  that  Lindsay,  early  on  the  morrow 
should  seek  a  private  audience  of  the  Eling,  and  in  sorrowful 
and  downcast  mood,  charge  with  guilt  the  Ladye  Jean,  yet 
not  to  reveal  the  whole  truth,  adroitly  concealing  the  page  as 
an  actor  in  the  scene,  and,  pointing  with  earnest  look  and 
meaning  glance  to  the  gallant  Knight  of  France,  endeavour 
to  persuade  His  Majesty  that  his  unholy  intrigues  had  stained 
with  crime  the  unsullied  reputation  of  his  favourite  daughter. 
Then  make  this  proposal  humbly  to  the  King — ^that,  to 
prevent  the  inevitable  exposure  of  the  intrigue,  the  Ladye 
Jean  be  given  in  marriage  to  John  de  Lyon,  who,  doubtless, 
would  only  be  too  glad  to  comply  with  His  Majesty's 
command. 

The  breast  of  the  proud  Lindsay  now  heaved  with  inde- 
scribable agony,  boiling  passion,  and  choking  rage,  and 
nothing  would  assuage  his  deeply-injured  feelings,  intensified 
as  they  were  with  such  a  sudden  and  bitter  disappointment 
to  all  his  most  valued  and  cherished  hopes.  De  Lyon,  seeing 
the  intensity  of  his  grief,  with  great  tact  and  knowledge  of 
human  nature,  calmly  allowed  its  wrath  to  expend  itself — 
when,  quickly  seizing  the  opportune  moment  to  resume  the 
game,  he  boldly  told  the  sorrow-stricken  Lindsay  that  nothing 
less  than  what  he  had  proposed,  would  wipe  away  the 
disgrace  from  the  escutcheon  of  the  Boyal  House. 

Scarcely  yet  comprehending  the  full  extent  of  his  degrada- 
tion and  misery,  the  Lindsay  retired  to  an  oriel  recess  in  his 
chamber,  to  ruminate  on  the  apparently  hopeless  condition  of 
his  prospects  and  love,  and  to  take  counsel  with  himself  as 
to  his  future  course  under  the  circumstances. 

He  thus  reasoned: — De  Lyon  had  never  seen  aught 
between  himself  and  Ladye  Jean  to  create  the  slightest 
suspicion  of  his  real  feelings  towards  the  Princess;  there 
could,  therefore,  be  no  jealousy  or  rivalry  in  the  matter.     If 


LEGEND  OF  THE  FIRST  LYON  OF  GLA^flS.  49 

the  confession  now  made  by  Lyon  be  true,  could  he  in  his 
heart  of  hearts  really  love  the  woman  who  could  not  bring 
him  honour)  As  to  the  first,  he  felt  shut  up,  however 
reluctantly,  to  give  credence  to  the  page's  confession ;  as  to 
the  second,  he  could  not,  as  a  man  of  honour  himself,  not 
only  not  have  any  affection  or  love  for  the  guilty,  but  must 
spurn  the  very  thought  of  such  a  feeling  remaining  in  his 
breast.  Love,  he  felt,  must  now  give  place  to  pity,  and  by 
this  feeUng  his  future  actions  in  the  case  would  be  regulated. 

Approaching  the  disconsolate  page,  the  Lindsay,  with  the 
graceful  air  of  generous  chivalry,  most  fervently  promised 
that  on  the  early  morrow  he  would  not  only  see  the  King,  but 
plead  Lyon's  cause  in  the  disguise  he  had  himself  proposed, 
and  with  all  the  entreative  earnestness  of  a  mutual  and  trusty 
friend. 

"  To-morrow,  then,  De  Lyon,"  said  the  Lindsay,  "  we  meet 
again ;  meantime,  farewell." 

''Another  card,"  thought  Lyon,  "well  played  ;"  and  as  he 
bent  his  way  in  the  midnight  silence  and  gloom  of  the  palace 
halls,  most  fervently  did  he  invoke  the  aid  of  angels,  and  of 
saints  to  guide  the  last  bold  throw  in  the  desperate  game  to  a 
successful  issue,  for  on  this  depended  the  future  fame  or  dis- 
grace of  his  eventful  life. 

Next  day  when  the  Lindsay  was  admitted  to  the  presence 
of  the  King,  he  found  his  Majesty  arrayed  and  equipped  for 
the  Eoyal  hunt,  who  in  an  unusual  flow  of  good  spirits, 
received  his  kinsman  with  the  most  familiar  condescension, 
and  gracious  courtesy.  Lindsay,  however,  came  to  the  point, 
and  explained  his  errand  at  once,  withholding  nothing  of  the 
compact  between  him  and  the  page. 

Who  can  depict  the  sudden  and  awful  revulsion  of  feeling 

experienced  by    the  grief-Btricken  King?    Up    and   down 

upon  his  seat  he  swung  with  the  most  intense  and  bitter 

agony.     The  grey  old  castle  rung  like  thunder  with  his  threat 

of  vengeance  on  the  guilty  head  of  his  debased,  undutiful 

daughter,  renouncing  her  for  ever  as  unworthy  any  more  of 

D 


50  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

his  protection  and  paternal  love.  The  climax  of  his  ungovern- 
able rage  was  reached  when,  with  a  fearful  damning  oath,  he 
swore  that  within  the  sacred  precincts  of  his  Court  no  gay 
French  cavalier  would  ever  be  admitted  more  I 

Lindsay,  who  felt  that  his  mission  was  only  yet  half  fulfilled, 
now,  with  wily,  persuasive  tongue,  proposed  that  John  de 
Lyon  should  wed  the  Ladye  Jean,  thus  screening  the  guilty 
conduct  of  his  daughter,  and  averting  the  inevitable  disgrace 
which  must  otherwise  fall  on  the  Royal  house. 

Not  knowing  of  the  artful  plot,  the  King,  in  another  sudden 
revulsion  of  feeling,  forgot  both  his  shame  and  his  wrath,  for 
this  proposal  of  Lindsay  entirely  changed  the  current  of  his 
thoughts.  Like  a  drowning  man,  he  caught  the  straw ;  for 
he  at  once  perceived  that  to  save  his  name  and  lineage  from, 
infamy,  immediate  marriage  must  take  place. 

Dismissing  Lindsay,  John  de  Lyon  was  instantly  summoned 
to  the  presence  of  the  King. 

Not  wishing  that  the  page  should  suppose  the  thought  had 
suddenly  entered  his  mind,  the  King  had  quickly  thrown 
aside  his  hunting  habiliments,  so  that  when*the  page  appeared 
in  his  presence  he  had  assumed  his  ordinary  costume,  and  sat 
in  the  Eoyal  chair  as  if  nothing  had  occurred  to  disturb  the 
general  equanimity  of  his  temper  and  demeanour.  Uncertain 
whether  Lindsay  had  been  true  or  false,  De  Lyon  stood  before 
the  monarch  in  a  blushing,  doubtful  mood,  not  daring  even  to 
ask  his  royal  pleasure.  The  King  himself  broke  the  painful 
silence,  and  thus  kindly  addressed  the  trembling  page — 

'^  A  trusty  and  obedient  servant  long  hast  thou  been,  De 
Lyon,  and  I  am  wishful  to  reward  thy  faithfulness,  yet  feel 
somewhat  at  a  loss  what  shape  thy  recompense  may  assume. 
Approach  John  Lyon — melancholy  and  sad,  I  ween  !  Gome, 
raise  thy  blushing,  drooping  head,  and  picture  a  bright  and 
sunny  future.  Listen — ^for  thy  great  clerkly  skill  and  faithful 
servitude,  I  will  bestow  upon  thee  this  reward — thy  dearest 
wish ;  thy  heart's  desire  will  I  grant  thee.  How  high,  De 
Lyon,  dost  thou  aspire  1 " 


LEGEND  OF  THE  FIRST  LYON  OF  GLAMIS.  51 

Inwardly  congratulating  himself  on  his  success,  in  strange, 
bewildered  amazement  he  raised  his  eyes  to  those  of  the  King 
to  assure  himself  the  scene  was  real,  and  not  a  wild  dream  of 
his  heated  imagination.  Not  reading  the  thoughts  nor  com- 
prehending the  real  feelings  of  the  page,  the  King  continued — 

''  All  my  daughters  are  now  affianced  excepting  one — the 
Ladye  Jean — and  for  thy  worth  and  services,  De  Lyon,  I  would 
on  thee  bestow  her  hand.'' 

The  artful  page  could  scarce  conceal  his  inward  emotion, 
and  deeply  blushing  even  at  hie  own  success,  replied  in  broken 
sentences  how  much  he  prized  the  unexpected  boon,  conclud- 
ing his  confused  expression  of  thanks  by  passionately  exclaim^ 
ing  in  the  height  of  his  joy — 

"  You  have  indeed,  sire,  granted  to  me  the  fulfilment  of  my 
dearest  wishes,  my  fondest  heart's  desire ;  for  I  have  ever 
most  truly,  affectionately  loved  the  Ladye  Jean  ! " 

" 'Tis  well — ^'tiswell;  then  be  it  so,*' rejoined  the  King; 
and,  as  the  page  was  leaving  the  Eoyal  presence,  his  Majesty 
kindly  beckoned  him  back  again,  called  him  a  mulish,  love- 
sick swain,  and,  as  he  could  brook  no  delay  in  the  matter, 
enjoined  him  to  fix  at  once  his  nuptial  day  : — 

"  To-morrow — if  thou  wilt— at  noon." 

The  news  of  the  approaching  Royal  wedding  was  hailed  by 
the  Court  with  the  greatest  satisfaction  and  delight,  all  approv- 
ing highly  of  the  monarch's  choice — De  Lyon  having  always 
been  a  marked  favourite  with  every  one,  from  the  lowest  to 
the  highest  in  rank,  ever  since  he  became  a  courtier  and  a 
Royal  page. 

Meanwhile  the  lovers,  with  their  secret  pent  up  in  their 
own  breasts,  longed  for  the  time  to  give  fiill  vent  to  their 
triumphant,  blissful  joy,  their  very  caution  lest  they  should 
betray  their  real  feelings  being,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  the 
subtlest,  most  hazardous  card  they  had  to  play  ! 

At  length,  with  great  pomp  and  splendour,  and  high  regal 
magnificence,  the  nuptials  of  the  happy  pair  were  duly  cele- 
brated, and  all — save  one  — rejoiced  in  the  budding  joy,  and 


52  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

showered  their  best  wishes  and  richest  blessings  on  the  loving 
hearts  which  had  that  day  been  united  in  the  holy  bonds  of 
wedlock.  The  one  who  formed  the  solitary  exception  was 
Sir  James  Lindsay,  who,  pale  and  downcast,  mingled  not  in 
the  gay  and  glittering  throng,  but  mused  apart  as  in  deepest 
solitude,  apparently  unconscious  of  any  other  presence  save 
his  own.  Alas !  no  wonder  the  brave  Lindsay  is  sad — 
despondingly  sad — for  his  early,  only  love,  she  once  so 
pricelessly  dear  to  his  manly  heart,  hath  now  been  given  to 
another. 

Next  day,  De  Lyon,  impatient  of  restraint,  and  unable 
longer  to  conceal  the  victory  he  had  gained,  repaired  to 
Lindsay's  chamber,  and  as  he  entered  stood  confused,  and 
sighed  and  blushed,  and  at  last  unfolded  the  deceitful  tale, 
laying  strength  and  emphasis  on  the  cunning  device,  and  con- 
fessing triumphantly  the  whole  details  of  the  artful  plot,  not 
omitting  the  emphatic  declaration  of  the  pure  and  perfect 
innocence  of  himself  and  the  Princess  ! 

Unaware  of  his  attachment  to  the  Princess,  Lyon  was  con- 
founded at  the  fierce  and  fiendish  glare  of  the  Lindsay's  eye, 
and  the  terribly  knit  and  scowling  brow,  as  the  wild, 
tumultuous  heaving  of  his  manly  breast  foreshadowed  the 
coming  storm. 

"Thou  hast  deceived  me,"  hoarsely  and  savagely  he  said  at 
length,  "  vile  wretch  !" — then  paused  in  his  paroxysm  of  rage. 
"  A  villanous  traitor  hast  thou  been — dog — miscreant — ^the 
Princess  was  my  bride — I  loved,  most  dearly  loved  the  Ladye 
Jean!  Enjoy  your  stolen  bliss,  deceitful,  treacherous  boy, 
but — when  we  meet  again — beware  T 

De  Lyon,  by  his  courteous  demeanour  and  exemplary  con- 
duct, ingratiated  himself  into  the  good  graces  of  his  Royal 
father-in-law,  who  raised  him  to  the  high  office  of  Grand 
Chamberlain  of  Scotland,  and  as  a  fitting  dowry  to  hia 
daughter,  the  Ladye  Jean,  bestowed  on  him  the  Castle  and 
broad  lands  of  Glamis,  in  whose  family  they  Lave  ever  since 
remained. 


LEGEND  OF  THE  FIRST  LYON  OF  GLAMIS.  53 

Many  long  years  had  rolled  away  since  the  nuptials  of 
Lyon  and  Ladye  Jean  were  celebrated  in  the  Castle  of 
Stirling,  yet,  although  actively  engaged  in  the  stirring  scenes 
of  that  eventful  period,  and  victorious  in  many  a  hard-fought 
conflict  on  the  field  of  battle,  the  Lindsay  never  forgot  the 
scene,  the  plot,  the  threat,  nor  Ladye  Jean  ! 

The  day  of  vengeance  came  at  last.  On  the  moss  of  Bal- 
hilly  to  the  eastward  of  Glamis,  the  Lindsay  and  De  Lyon 
once  more,  and  for  the  last  time,  met.  Each  had  brought  his 
own  retainers  to  the  deadly  combat,  and  long  and  fierce  did 
the  furious  conflict  rage.  With  ponderous  battle-axe  and 
shivering  spear,  midst  hellish  shoutings  of  the  savage  hordes, 
the  combatants  were  stricken  down  upon  the  plain,  while 
along  the  ridges  like  the  rushing  rain  ran  the  crimson  blood 
of  the  doughty  warriors,  till  the  battle-field  was  thickly  strewn 
with  the  ghastly  heaps  of  the  dying  and  the  dead. 

"Hold!"  cried  the  Lindsay;  "cease  the  strife,  spill  no 
more  precious  blood;  to  single  combat,  Lyon — thy  life  or 
mine  shall  now  decide  the  day." 

Paralysed  by  the  fierceness  and  determination  of  his  adver- 
sary, and,  doubtless,  feeling  that  now  indeed  his  hour  was 
come,  De  Lyon  lost  all  presence  of  mind,  advancing  to  meet 
his  deadly  enemy  as  if  in  a  trance  or  mystic  dream. 

Not  so  the  Lindsay  1  On,  on  impetuously  he  rushed  and 
with  one  true  and  deadly  blow,  low  laid  the  suppliant  Lyon 
at  his  feet 

"Take  that,"  he  fiercely  cried,  as  he  thrust  at  Lyon's  heart 
his  bloody  sword.  "  'Twill  be  some  time  ere  thou  embrace 
again — ^thy  Ladye  Jean  !" 

And  thus  in  bloody  combat  fell. 
On  Balhill  Moss — there,  mark  it  well — 
The  first  that  name  of  Lyon  bore, 
Who  owned  the  Barony  of  Strathmore. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    LEGEND    OF    THE    MURDER    OF    MALCOLM    IL 

Strange,  we  Bhould  meet  thus  drear  and  lone 

Beside  King  Malcolm's  sculptured  stone  : 

'TIS  well  we  come  not  to  this  shrine 

To  plight  in  fear  your  faith  and  mine — 

An  evil  omen  hovers  round 

This  ours'd,  mysterious,  fatal  ground. 

Robert  Chambers,  in  his  "Memoir  of  Burns,"  with  refer- 
ence to  the  vision  seen  at  Alloway  Kirk  bj  Tarn  o'  Shanter, 
makes  the  prosaic  yet  not  altogether  surprising  observation 
that  the  witches  must  have  had  very  little  room  in  which  to 
dance — he  and  others  of  like  sort  and  compass  of  mind  en- 
tirely ignoring  the  truism  that  he  who  created  the  witches 
could  also  have  created  space.  Appl3ring  generally  this  rule 
and  plummet  kind  of  criticism,  what  would  become  of  all  our 
fondly-cherished  associations,  our  venerated  legendary  rom- 
ance, our  ancient  love  and  vivid  ^realisation  of  the  creations 
of  poetic  genius  ? 

What  distinguishes  Homer  as  the  greatest  of  all  poets  is 
his  invention.  It  is  this  amazing  and  unequalled  trait  of  his 
unrivalled  genius  that  hurries  on  his  verses — 

"  Like  a  fire  that  sweeps  the  whole  earth  before  it." 

It  is  this  invention  that  places  the  Iliad  of  Homer  so  far  above 
the  ^neas  of  Virgil,  and  stamps  the  author  thereof  as  the 
highest  in  rank  of  any  writer  that  ever  lived.  In  the  vivid- 
ness of  his  descriptions  ;  in  the  animation  of  his  battles ;  in 
the  unfolding  of  the  workings  of  the  tender  passions  ;  in  the 
force  and  delineation  of  character,  everything  Hves,  and  moves. 


LEGEND  OF  THE  MURDER  OF  MALCOLM  IL  55 

and  bas  a  being,  and  tbis  to  sucb  an  intense  degree,  that  we 
forget  we  are  reading  a  magnificent  fable,  and  see  only  as  a 
realised  reality  tbe  matcbless  beauty  of  Helen,  the  insatiable 
wrath  of  Achilles,  the  generalship  of  Agamemnon,  the 
bravery  of  Hector,  the  galleys  of  Crocylia,  the  ships  of  Athens, 
and  the  barks  of  Crete ;  the  glittering  spires  of  Ilion,  the  im- 
perial towers  of  Corinth,  and  the  lofty  guarded  walls  and 
spear-crowned  battlements  of  Troy ! 

Coming  down  to  the  remote  events  of  our  own  country, 
notwithstanding  that  modem  historians  now  generally  assert 
that  Malcolm  H.  died  a  peaceable  death,  we  still  obstinately 
cling  to  the  mystical  tradition  which  represents  him  as  hav- 
ing been  barbarously  murdered  by  some  of  the  adherents  of 
Kenneth  Y.,  in  the  wood  of  Thornton,  while  on  his  way  to 
the  Castle  of  Glamis.  The  wood  of  Thornton,  it  may  be  re- 
marked, takes  its  designation  from  the  hamlet  of  that  name, 
situated  immediately  to  the  eastward,  in  the  parish  of  Kin- 
nettles.  In  reality,  however,  it  is  not  a  distinct  wood  by 
itself,  being  merely  the  northern  shoulder  of  the  Hunter  Hill 
already  noticed,  and  to  which  frequent  allusion  will  be  made 
in  the  future. 

It  was  winter — night — ^in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1033  ;  the 
snow  lay  deep  upon  the  ground;  wild,  dreary  desolation 
reigned  throughout  the  great  Howe  of  Strathmore.  As  an 
invited  and  ever-welcome  guest.  King  Malcolm  was  on  his 
way  to  the  ancient  Castle  of  Glamis.  His  gallant  and  gaily- 
caparisoned  steed  bore  him  with  fearless  haste  along  the  hard, 
crisp  snow,  until,  having  passed  lone  Kerbet  Bridge,  the 
lights  of  the  battlemented  castle  appeared  in  the  distance  to 
gladden  the  heart  of  the  royal  traveller.  His  journey  was 
nearly  ended ;  and,  bidding  adieu  to  the  cares  and  anxieties 
of  State,  he  slowly  reined  in  his  impetuous  steed,  and,  dream- 
ing not  of  danger,  he  gave  himself  up  to  the  full  enjoyment 
of  the  hour. 

Alas  !  these  walls  no  more  again 
Shall  echo  glad  his  joyous  strain ; 


56  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

No  more  shall  he  in  court  or  hall 

Oay  maiden's  yielding  hearts  enthral. 

Nor  softly  sing  in  Ladye's  bowers, 

At  ev'ning's  sweet  and  stilly  hours  ; 

Nor  in  the  forest,  or  the  hill, 

When  early  mom  her  dews  distil, 

At  thrilling  sound  of  hunter's  horn. 

Shall  chase  the  deer  through  brake  and  thorn  ; 

Soon  shall  the  song  in  Glamis*  hall 

Be  changed  to  wailing,  and  o'er  all 

Be  hung,  in  dark  funereal  gloom. 

The  sable  mantle  of  the  tomb  I 

The  king  had  now  reached  the  middle  of  the  dark,  thfckly- 
planted  wood  of  Thornton,  when,  rushing  out  from  a  elump 
of  waving  pine,  three  stalwart  assajssins,  armed  with  sword 
and  battleaxe,  confronted  the  unsuspecting^  monarch.  In  a 
twinkling  they  unhorsed  the  King,  and  before  he  could 
draw  his  sword  in  self-defence,  he  was  felled  to  the  earth  by 
his  cowardly  murderers,  his  gashing  heart's  blood  dyeing  with 
crimson  gore  the  white  and  virgin  snow  all  around  where  he 
fell. 

His  warrior  steed,  who  had  often  before  borne  his  royal 
master  to  the  princely  Castle  of  Glamis,  with  strange  instinct, 
almost  amounting  to  reason,  careered  away  to  Glamis  the 
moment  the  monarch  fell.  Besmeared  with  the  crimson 
blood  of  his  master,  he  stood  neighing  at  the  gates  of  the 
Castle  until  admitted  by  the  astonished  and  horror-stricken 
warder,  who  immediately  gave  the  alarm  to  the  inmates  of 
the  Castle. 

In  a  moment  the  revels  ceased.  Save  those  of  vengeance, 
no  sounds  were  now  heard  in  the  princely  Castle.  The 
banquet  hall  resounded  with  the  wild  shrieks  of  agony,  and 
fear  and  horror  filled  the  minds  of  all. 

The  lawn  in  front  of  the  Castle  was  soon  thronged  by 
doughty  warriors  and  armed  retainers,  determined  to  unravel 
the  mystery,  for  that  the  King  had  been  basely  murdered 
there  could  be  no  shadow  of  doubt.  They  waited  long  and 
patiently  for  the  Lord  of  Glamis  to  give  the  word,  and  lead 


LEGEND  OF  THE  MURDER  OF  MALCOLM  II.  57 

them  on  to  vengeance  with  his  trusty  sword,  but  they  waited 
in  vain.  With  a  deep  and  ominous  sound  it  was  whispered 
hoarsely  that  he  had  mysteriously  disappeared  ! 

The  chief  warder  of  the  Castle,  however,  now  manfully  put 
himself  at  their  head ;  and,  tracing  the  horse's  bloody  hoof- 
prints  on  the  frozen  snow,  they  soon  reached  the  wood  at 
Thornton,  where,  to  their  grief  and  horror,  in  a  dark  clump 
of  mountain  pine,  they  found  the  mangled  remains  of  the 
barbarously  murdered  King. 

Wild  and  deep  now  loudly  arose  the  coronach's  ringing 
wail,  striking  terror  into  the  hearts  of  the  cowardly  assassins, 
who  still  hovered  round  the  scene  of  the  murder.  But, 
guided  by  their  bloody  track,  their  fierce  avengers  were  soon 
on  the  pursuit.  Following  close  on  their  heels,  they  gave 
instant  chase,  pursuing  the  assassins  o'er  the  snowy  moonlit 
plain.  Almost  overtaken,  they  betook  themselves  to  the  lake 
of  Forfar,  which  being  but  imperfectly  frozen  over,  the  ice 
gave  way,  and  they  miserably  perished  in  sight  of  their 
avengers,  but  not  until  the  spirit  of  their  murdered  King  had 
appeared  unto  them,  wielding  the  sword  of  vengeance  o'er 
their  guilty  heads  as  they  sank  to  rise  no  more. 

To  the  keen  eye  of  the  warder,  two  only  seemed  to  die  in 
the  lake,  whereas  all  along  the  vale  the  bloody  footprints  of 
three  different  persons  were  distinctly  traceable  on  the  snow, 
until,  having  reached  the  lonely  pine  wood  on  the  shore,  the 
imprints  of  one  had  disappeared  !  The  absence  of  their  noble 
host  from  the  Castle  when  the  blood-smeared  steed  appeared 
at  its  gates  did  to  him  seem  mysterious  and  unaccountable. 
He  kept  these  dark  thoughts,  however,  within  his  own 
breast,  trusting  to  time  to  unravel  the  mystery. 

The  avengers  now  retraced  their  footsteps  to  the  wood  of 
Thornton,  where  they  had  left  one  of  their  number  in  charge  of 
the  body  of  the  King.  Clad  in  a  flowing  robe  of  Kendal  green, 
the  Bard  of  Glamis,  grey  and  hoary  with  years,  walked  with 
stately  and  measured  tread  before  the  royal  corpse,  which, 
amidst  profound  grief,  was  now  borne  to  the  silent  halls  of  the 


58  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Castle.  On  approaching  the  gates,  where  still  stood  the 
faithful  steed  of  the  murdered  monarch,  the  aged  minstrel 
strung  his  jewelled  harp,  and  thus,  in  solemn  accents,  sung : — 

The  Minbtrel's  Lament. 

Oh  t  dark  was  the  hour. 

Remorseless  the  power. 
That  laid  our  young  King  Malcolm  low ; 

No  harm  reck'd  he, 

Or  black  treachery, 
Or  vile  and  dark  assassins'  blow. 

In  gladsome  mood 

He  reaoh'd  the  dark  wood, 
"Bjb  steed  dashing  cheerily ; 

No  time  to  repent, 

Quick  as  lightning  was  sent 
His  soul  to  eternity  ! 

Now  shed  the  salt  tear 

O'er  his  blood-red  bier, 
And  heave  the  sigh  deep  of  sorrow  ; 

Reign  no  more  will  he, 

Ne*er  on  earth  shall  he  see 
The  dawn  of  the  beautiful  morrow. 

Jehovah  is  nigh ; 

Though  th'  assassins  may  fly, 
'Tis  time  of  their  sins  they  were  shriren, 

For  now  we  call  down 

The  Almighty's  frown, 
And  the  swift  awful  Tengeanoe  of  Hearen  t 

In  the  wood  of  Thornton,  to  the  eastward  of  the  village  of 
Glamis,  and  on  the  spot  where  the  murder  was  committed, 
there  is  a  large  cairn  of  stones  surrounding  an  ancient  obelisk, 
which  is  called  King  Malcolm's  gravestone.  The  obelisk 
stands  at  a  short  distance  from  the  road,  in  the  most  gloomy 
part  of  the  wood,  realising  to  the  fullest  extent  all  our  high 
and  weird  imaginings  of  the  dark  and  bloody  scene.  On  this 
gravestone  are  rudely  sculptured  the  figures  of  two  men  who 
are  represented  as  forming  the  bloody  conspiracy.  A  lion  and 
a  centaur  on  the  upper  part  seem  to  be  emblematical  of  the 
cowardly  nature  and  horrible  barbarity  of  the  crime.     Several 


LEGEND  OF  THE  MURDER  OF  MALCOLM  IL  59 

kinds  of  fishes  are  also  represented  on  the  stone  as  symbolical 
of  the  loch  in  which  the  murderers  unexpectedly  met  a  watery 
grave. 

For  long  years  after  the  assassination  of  Malcolm,  the  Lord 
of  Glamis  often  took  his  sad  and  solitary  way  to  the  dark  and 
lonely  wood  of  Thornton,  and  lowly  bowed  his  weary  head 
over  the  spot  where  the  tragical  event  occurred.  This  strange 
conduct  did  not  escape  the  keen  and  ever-watchful  eye  of  the 
warder,  who,  not  unjustly,  thought  he  had  now  detected  suffi- 
cient to  unveil  the  mystery  already  alluded  to. 

A  stronger  confirmation  of  his  dark  suspicions,  however, 
was  soon  to  be  afforded  to  him.  About  this  time  the  proud 
Earl  of  Angus,  with  his  fair  daughter  Finella,  arrived  on  a 
visit  to  Glamis  Castle.  The  Lord  of  Glamis  was  instantly 
smitten  with  the  matchless  beauty  of  the  fascinating  maiden. 
Hlb  love  being  apparently  returned,  he  boldly  asked  her  hand 
in  marriage  from  her  lordly  father,  which  priceless  boon  was 
most  courteously  and  graciously  granted. 

By  a  strange  fascination  or  infatuation,  the  Lord  of  Glamis, 
one  morning  of  quiet  summer  beauty,  led  his  affianced  bride 
to  the  lonely  wood  of  Thornton,  and  there,  bound  by  a  holy 
oath^  they  solemnly  plighted  their  troth  to  each  other.  Not 
content  with  this  mutual  compact,  the  Lord  of  Glamis  called 
aloud  for  the  spirit  of  the  murdered  King  to  appear  and  be  wit- 
ness of  their  solemn  engagement. 

Sad,  fatal  wish  !  Wrapped  in  his  shroud  of  clotted  gore, 
the  monarch  appeared  to  the  terror-stricken  maiden,  and, 
casting  on  them  both  a  withering  frown  of  revengeful  scorn, 
slowly  disappeared  again  among  the  silent  dead  ! 

And  yet  at  length  these  two  were  wed,  and  a  family  of  three 
sons  grew  up  in  beauty  around  them ;  but  a  curse  seemed 
to  have  settled  upon  them,  each  striving  for  the  mastery.  So 
they  led  a  very  unhappy,  wretched  life. 

One  morn,  with  ominous  foreboding,  it  was  hoarsely 
whispered  their  hopeful  heir  could  not  be  found,  and  the 


60  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Lord  of  Glamis  immediately  ordered  strict  search  to  be  made 
for  the  missing  boy. 

"On,  on  with  me,  o'er  glen  and  hill,'*  he  excitedly  ex- 
claimed. "  Some  scour  the  wood  and  some  the  plain,  and 
return  not  from  the  search  until  your  young  lord  you  have 
found,  and  placed  him  safe  within  my  loving  arms,  and  then 
throughout  the  Castle  halls  shall  mirth  and  song  abound  to 
celebrate  his  restoration  to  his  father  and  his  friends" 

But  ah !  the  dawning  of  the  following  mom  still  saw  them 
sad  pursue  their  search  in  vain,  till,  having  reached  the 
troubled  lake,  their  worst  fears  were  realised  ;  for  there  upon 
the  crested  waves  was  sleeping  his  last  sleep  the  heir  to  all 
those  wide  domains — the  hope  and  joy  of  the  proud  Lord  of 
Strathmore ! 

Soon  again  was  heard  the  bitter  wail  of  lamentation  and 
sorrow,  for  one  of  their  other  sons  had  with  youthful  curiosity, 
crept  his  devious  way  to  where  the  loftiest  towers  in  grim 
array  frowned  sternly  o'er  the  donjon  keep  of  the  Castle,  and 
looking  over  the  deep  chasm,  his  little  head  grew  giddy,  and 
down  into  the  gulf  below  he  fell,  and  before  the  eyes  of  his 
father  was  dashed  ta  pieces  on  the  ground. 

Their  other  child,  a  lovely  and  amiable  boy,  was  now 
tended  and  caressed  with  the  most  anxious  care  and  filial  love. 
All  in  vain  1  Watched  by  a  father's  loving  eye,  the  sportive 
boy  one  summer  morn  was  joyously  bounding  o'er  the  green- 
sward in  front  of  the  Castle,  when,  swift  and  suddenly  as  the 
lightning's  flash,  a  wild  and  heavily-antlered  stag,  with  one 
furious,  fatal  stroke,  laid  the  lovely  prattler  dead  at  his 
father's  feet. 

Full  oft,  though  revelling  in  sumptuous,  almost  regal  mag- 
nificence, would  Glamis  and  his  proud  ladye  mourn  their  sad 
and  bitter  fate,  and  inwardly  curse  that  fatal  mom  they 
pledged  their  love  and  plighted  their  troth  at  the  gravestone  of 
the  murdered  King. 

It  was  a  wild  and  stormy  winter's  eve.  The  old  grey  towers 
and  battlements  of  the  Castle  shook  to  their  foundations  as 


LEGEND  OF  THE  MURDER  OF  MALCOLM  II.  61 

the  blustering  tempest  expended  its  demoniac  wrath  on  the 
grand  old  feudal  pile.  Guests  and  retainers  were  alike  awe- 
struck with  terror  when  now  there  mingled  with  and  rose 
above  the  fury  of  the  gale  the  long,  loud,  wailing  shrieks  of 
mortal  agony,  as  if  from  one  imploring  help  from  the  attacks 
of  some  deadly  enemy. 

The  host  had  not  been  seen  since  the  storm  began  !  Appre- 
hensive of  some  fearful  catastrophe,  all  excepting  Ladye  Glamis 
now  frantically  rushed  to  the  private  chamber  of  the  Lord  of 
Glamis,  situate  in  one  of  the  gloomiest  battlements  of  the 
Castle.  The  shrieks  of  agony  and  implorations  for  mercy  had 
ceased,  and  there,  on  the  cold  oaken  floor,  lay  the  dead  body 
of  Glamis,  the  contorted  features  of  the  corpse  vividly  indica- 
tive of  some  fearful  struggle  with  the  Prince  of  Darkness,  or 
his  avenging  legions  from  Pandemonium's  innermost  hell  1 

With  great  expressions  of  grief,  the  Ladye  Glamis  gave  her 
Lord  a  sumptuous  funeral,  but  none  believed  her  professions  of 
sorrow ;  and  when  in  Thornton  Wood  she  was  shortly  after- 
wards found  by  some  of  her  menials  weltering  in  her  blood, 
no  tears  were  shed  over  her,  nor  vespers  sung  or  said—  they 
buried  her  in  silence  where  she  feU,  no  priest  or  minstrel 
breaking  by  bead  or  harp  the  stillness  of  the  scene : — 

And  to  this  day  no  Toice  of  song 
Is  ever  heard  these  woods  among — 
'  Tis  there  the  ravens  croaking  fly, 
And  owl  and  bat  hold  reveh^. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

LEGEND    OF  THE  SECRET   CHAMBER. 

The  Castle  now  agaiD  behold. 
Then  inark  yon  lofty  turret  bold, 
Which  frowns  above  the  western  wing. 
Its  grim  walls  darkly  shadowii^. 
There  is  a  room  within  that  tower 
No  mortal  dare  approach ;  the  power 
Of  an  avenging  God  is  there, 
Dread,  awfully  display'd — beware  ! 
And  enter  not  that  dreaded  room. 
Else  yours  may  be  a  fearful  doom  f 

To  hunt  the  wild  boar  of  the  forest,  as  well  as  the  red  deer 
of  the  hill,  wa6  the  great  and  favourite  pastime  of  the  grim 
cavaliers  and  warriors  of  old.  The  far-famed,  richly-wooded, 
and  romantic  "  Hunter  Hill "  rears  its  umbrageous,  lofty  head 
immediately  to  the  south  of  the  village  of  Glamis,  and  within 
a  short  distance  of  the  hoary  old  Castle.  It  is  sometimes  not 
veiy  easy  satisfactorily  to  trace  the  etymology  of  places  which 
have  become  historically  famous.  There  can  be  little  doubt, 
however,  but  that  the  name  of  this  hill,  in  some  way  or  other, 
refers  to  the  chase,  which  from  a  very  remote  period,  was  the 
national  amusement  of  Scotland.  In  such  high  estimation 
was  this  favourite  pastime  held  by  the  nobility  and  gentry, 
that,  by  the  forest  laws  of  Canute  the  Great,  "no  person 
under  the  rank  of  a  gentleman  was  allowed  to  keep  a  grey- 
hound." This  hill,  therefore,  being  of  very  considerable  ex- 
tent, and  abounding  in  game,  might  on  this  account  have 
been  selected  as  the  favourite  arena  of  the  chase,  and  been 
distinguished  by  the  pre-eminent  title  of  the  "  Hunter  Hill.'' 

The  **  meet "  at  Glamis  on  the  morning  of  the  hunt  presented 


LEGEND  OF  THE  SECRET  CHAMBER.  63 

one  of  the  most  stirring  and  picturesque  scenes,  therefore,  that 
could  either  by  painter  or  poet  be  imagined.  On  a  grey,  crisp 
morning  in  early  spring  there  congregated  on  the  undulating 
greensward  in  front  of  the  Castle  as  gay  and  brilliant  a  throng 
as  had  ever  heretofore  assembled  in  martial  array  for  the  chase. 
Here,  the  stalwart  swarthy  mountaineers,  attended  by  their 
grim  and  faithful  henchmen,  rode  majestically  along  in  the 
rear,  and  under  the  guidance  of  the  doughty,  steel-clad  chief- 
tains of  each  Highland  clan,  aU  cheered  by  the  stirring  sounds 
of  the  pibroch  they  loved  so  well.  There,  the  flower 
of  Lowland  chivalry,  with  nodding  plume  and  glancing 
spear,  bestrode  their  fiery  and  impatient  steeds  in  all  the 
lordly  state  of  cavaliers  of  high  degree.  Yonder,  more 
intensely  interesting  and  beautiful  than  all  besides,  on  richly 
caparisoned  palfreys,  rode  sweet  lovely  groups  of  ladyes  fair, 
attended  and  adored  by  their  obsequious  courtiers,  whose 
chief  delight  and  duty  it  was  to  gratify  and  obey. 

The  bugle  sounds  !  To  join  the  hunt  they  hie  away,  fast 
as  their  gallant  steeds  can  carry  them,  to  the  Hunter  Hill  and 
Glen  of  Ogilvy,  the  favourite  resort  of  the  wild  boar,  the  red 
deer,  and  the  buck.  Like  arrows  shot  from  the  bent  bow  of 
the  archer,  they  dart  on  their  several  ways — some  scouring 
the  pine-clad  lofty  hills,  and  some  the  heath-covered,  bleak, 
uncultivated  plains ;  each  by  some  valiant,  chivalrous  deed, 
striving  unceasingly  to  win  the  coveted  trophies  of  the  slain 
as  practical  proofs  of  their  daring  prowess  in  the  hunt,  as  well 
as  in  the  battlefield ;  these  trophies  to  be  presented,  as  their 
wont,  to  the  ladyes  fair  and  gay,  who  in  the  one  case  accom- 
panied them  in  their  Kendal  livery  of  green,  and  in  the  other, 
who  either  in  bower  or  hall  awaited  anxiously  and  lovingly 
their  long-looked-for  return. 

As  the  result  of  this  unceasing  activity,  many  a  noble  deer 
lay  dead  upon  the  hill,  and  many  a  grizly  boar  dyed  with 
his  heart's  blood  the  rivers  of  the  plain.  The  day  drew  near 
its  close,  and  the  sturdy  ghillies  having  collected  together  the 
spoils  of  the  chase,  and  slung  them  on  the  horses  appointed 


64  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

for  the  purpose,  the  wearied  and  exhausted  huntsmen  with 
their  fair  attendants  returned,  'midst  the  sounds  of  martial 
music  and  the  low  whispered  roundelays  of  the  ladyes, 
victorious  to  the  Castle. 

Then,  at  the  high  behest  of  Glands,  was  rudely  yet  richly 
spread  in  the  old  baronial  dining-hall  the  sumptuous  and 
savoury  feast.  Venison  and  reeking  game,  rich  smoked  ham 
and  savoury  roe,  flanked  by  the  wild  boar*s  head,  and  viands 
and  pasties  without  name,  blent  profusely  on  the  hospitable 
board,  while  jewelled  and  capacious  goblets,  filled  with  ruby 
wine,  were  lavishly  handed  round  to  the  admiring  guests. 

The  banquet  over,  the  minstrel  strung  his  ancient  harp,  and 
charmed  the  company  with  his  martial  songs.  And  then 
they  tripped  it  lightly  on  the  oaken  floar  till  the  rafters  rang 
with  the  merry  sounds  of  their  midnight  revelry. 

At  break  of  day  exhausted  languor  crept  unconsciously  over 
the  numerous  guests,  and  chieftains  grim  and  ladyes  gay 
retired  to  their  several  chambers  to  seek  repose  ;  and  silence 
reigned  over  the  vast  old  feudal  pile,  erewhile  so  full  of  mirth- 
ful revelry. 

For  three  days  and  nights  the  hunt  and  the  feast  continued, 
varied  with  tilt  and  tournament  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the 
Castle.  The  third  day  of  the  revelries  drew  at  last  to  a  close, 
and  cavaliers  and  retainers  again  retired  to  seek  repose.  The 
waning  lights  waxed  faint  and  dim.  Yet  still  four  dark 
chieftains  remained  in  an  inner  chamber  of  the  Castle,  and 
sang  and  drank,  and  shouted  right  merrilie.  The  day  broke, 
yet  louder  rang  the  wassail  roar  ;  the  goblets  were  over  and 
over  again  replenished,  and  the  terrible  oaths  and  ribald  songs 
continued,  and  the  dice  rattled,  and  the  revelry  became  louder 
still,  till  the  massy  walls  of  the  old  Castle  shook  and  rever- 
berated with  the  awful  sounds  of  debauchery,  blasphemy,  and 
crime. 

At  length  their  wild,  ungovernable  frenzy  reached  its 
climax.  They  had  drunk  until  their  eyes  had  grown  dim,  and 
their  hands  could  scarcely  throw  the  hellish  dice,  when  driven 


LEGEND  OF  THE  SECRET  CHAMBER.  65 

by  expiring  fury,  with  fiendish  glee  they  defiantly  gnashed  their 
teeth  and  cursed  the  God  of  heaven  !  Then,  with  returning 
strength,  and  exhausting  its  last  and  fitful  energies  in  still 
louder  imprecations  and  more  fearful  yells,  they  deliberately, 
and  with  unanimous  voice,  consigned  their  guilty  souls  to 
the  nethermost  hell ! 

Fatal  words  !  In  a  bright,  broad  sheet  of  lurid  and  sulphur- 
ous flame  the  Prince  of  Darkness  appeared  in  their  midst,  and 
struck — not  the  shaft  of  death,  but  the  vitality  of  eternal  life 
— ^and  there  to  this  day  in  that  dreaded  room  they  sit,  trans- 
fixed in  all  their  hideous  expression  of  ghastly  terror  and 
dismay — the  cups  of  wine  spread  o*er  their  bacchanalian  shrine^ 
and  the  dice  clattering  and  rattling  as  of  yore — terribly,  yet 
justly,  doomed  to  drink  the  wine-cup  and  throw  the  dice  till 
the  dawning  of  the  Great  Judgment  Day  ! 

This  legend  is  founded  on  an  incident  which  is  said  to  have 
occurred  during  one  of  the  carousals  of  the  Earl  of  Crawford, 
otherwise  styled  "  Earl  Beardie,"  or  the  "  Tiger  Earl,"  in  what 
is  now  called  t  the  **  Secret  Eoom"  of  the  Castle.  This  room 
has  often  been  sought  for,  and  while  every  other  part  of  the 
Castle  had  been  satisfactorily  explored,  the  search  for  this 
celebrated  and  historic  chamber  has  been  in  vain.  It  is  said 
that  this  room  is  only  known  to  two,  or  at  most  three, 
individuals  at  the  same  time,  who  are  bound  not  to  reveal  it 
unless  to  their  successors  in  the  secret. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

LEGEND  OF  THE  GROVE. 

We  cannot  pass  this  shady  grove, 
For  o'er  it  hangs  a  tale  of  love. 
So  tender  I  must  tell  it  thee, 
Though  full  of  awe  and  mystery  : — 
You  see  these  lofty  beeohen  trees, 
Which,  moaning,  sigh  upon  the  breeze — 
An  alcoye  deep  of  darksome  gloom, 
O'erhung  with  shadows  of  the  tomb : 
Within  that  ghostly,  gloomy  shade, 
There  lies  a  broken-hearted  maid, 
Whose  sad  and  melancholy  tale 
Is  whispered  by  the  passing  gale, 
Startling  with  horror  and  affright 
The  poor  benighted  luckless  wight. 

The  Hunter  Hill  of  Glamis,  as  has  already  been  noted,  is  one 
of  the  most  beautifully  romantic  and  historically  interesting 
spots  in  Scotland.  It  is  of  vast  extent  and  great  height. 
The  wood  of  Thornton,  in  which  the  bloody  tragedy  recorded 
in  the  legend  of  the  murder  .of  ^lalcolm  II.  took  place,  is  in 
reality  part  of  the  Hunter  Hill,  and  not  a  distinct  and  separ- 
ate wood  as  is  generally  supposed.  In  this  hill  and  the  Castle, 
therefore,  centre  nearly  all  the  tales  of  chivalry  and  legends 
of  romance  which  appertain  to  the  district. 

The  Castle  in  all  its  unique  grandeur  and  feudal  magnifi- 
cence I  have  already  attempted  to  describe.  The  visits  of  the 
tourist  and  traveller  to  Glamis  embrace  often  little  else  than 
the  old  hoary  pile  and  its  interesting  and  beautiful  surround- 
*  ings.  They,  therefore,  know  comparatively  little  of  the 
general  character  of  the  far-stretching  scenery  beyond,  vieing 
as  it  does  in  bold  and  rugged  or.tline  and  quiet  nestling 


LEGEND  OF  THE  GROVE.  67 

scenes  of  soft  and  sylvan  beauty  with  those  of  any  country  in 
Europe. 

From  the  gates  of  the  Castle  pathways  the  most  beautiful 
and  attractive  stretch  away  in  every  direction,  overshadowed 
with  the  umbrageous  branches  of  the  beech  and  oak,  and 
vocal  with  the  thrilling  music  of  the  gay  and  happy  birds. 
Now  passing  through  a  sheltered  and  bosky  dell,  with  the  slow 
rolling  Dean  flowing  musically  through  its  midst ;  anon  pur- 
suing our  devious  way  over  an  open,  flower-gemmed,  breezy 
common,  gazing  in  rapture  at  the  lofty  battlements  and 
towers  of  the  Castle,  as  an  occasional  opening  in  the  distant 
wood  reveals  them  suddenly  to  our  view ;  we  find  ourselves 
among  shady,  dreamy  groves  of  overhanging  trees,  their  green, 
interlacing  leaves  intermingled  with  the  golden  blossoms  of 
the  beautiful  laburnum,  hanging  in  rich  luxuriance  from  the 
pendant  boughs;  and  still  proceeding  westward,  we  reach 
with  delightful  joy  the  much-loved,  solemn  forest  paths,  as 
lovely  and  beautiful  as  any  of  the  justly  celebrated  "  green 
lanes"  of  England,  and  while  roaming  among  the  waving 
woodlands,  may  muse  and  dream  away  a  long,  long  summer's 
day  in  all  the  mental  luxuriance  of  aspiring  thought  and 
spiritual  repose. 

But  our  present  destination  being  the  Hunter  Hill,  our 
route  must  be  in  another  direction.  We  shall,  therefore,  pro- 
ceed through  the  village,  turning  to  the  right  at  the  bridge ; 
and,  passing  on  our  way  the  village  green,  we  cross  the  rustic 
bridge,  and  bend  our  course  up  the  wooded  ravine,  which  now 
silently  invites  us  to  view  its  wild  and  sylvan  beauty. 

After  crossing  the  bridge  at  the  reservoir,  we  can  either 
proceed  to  the  summit  of  the  hill  by  the  direct  road  to  which 
this  leads,  or  we  may  have  a  delightful  zig-zag  ramble  in  the 
waving  and  beautiful  woodland,  until  we  come  within  sight  of 
the  village ;  and  then,  turning  eastward,  pass  through  bosky 
dells,  and  over  gently  sloping  hillocks,  covered  with  the 
green  and  beautiful  bushes  of  the  blaeberry,  purpled  richly  in 
summer  with  prolific  clusters  of  mellow  fruit,  the  coveted 


68  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

prize  of  the  village  urchins,  who  resort  in  eager  and  happj 
groups  from  far  and  near  to  fill  their  burnished  and  capacious 
flagons  with  the  coveted  berries.  The  star-like  and  beautiful 
anemone  flourishes  in  great  abundance  all  around ;  and  the 
varied  display  of  ferns  which  everywhere  meets  the  eye  forms 
of  itself  a  most  interesting  and  instructive  study  to  the 
botanist. 

The  grove  alluded  to  in  the  following  legend  is  about  mid- 
way up  the  hill,  proceeding  eastward.  It  presents  this  remark- 
able appearance,  that  it  is  composed  entirely  of  beech,  while 
all  around  grow  the  birch  and  the  mountain  pine. 

Edmund  Graeme,  the  only  son  of  a  neighbouring  proprietor 
on  the  other  side  of  the  hill,  was  as  fair  and  handsome  a  youth 
as  could  be  seen  or  admired  in  the  whole  Howe  of  Strathmore. 
His  form  well-knit  and  manly,  complexion  clear  and  ruddy, 
dreamy  eyes  of  cerulean  blue,  and  luxuriant  tresses  of  wavy 
gold,  he  presented  and  became  the  very  beau  idealy  to  the 
maidens  of  his  native  strath,  of  all  that  constitutes  the  exter- 
nals of  the  real  cavalier,  gently  and  finely  blended  with  the 
true  and  loving  tenderness  of  a  genuine  human  heart.  Of  a 
happy  and  enthusiastic  temperament,  his  ringing  voice  and 
winning  smile  might  have  beguiled  the  heart  of  any  damsel, 
whether  of  low  or  high  degree.  Yet,  although  many  a  long- 
ing eye  would  gaze  on  him  with  the  deepest,  fondest  love, 
these  glances  of  affectionate  feeling  failed  to  reach  his  inner 
heart;  and  at  the  banquet  hall,  or  beneath  the  greenwood 
tree,  his  smile  continued  as  fascinating  and  sweet,  and  his 
song  as  captivating  and  joyous  as  ever. 

At  length  his  countenance  grew  shrunk  and  pale — ^the 
bloom  of  youth  had  faded  from  his  cheek,  and  the  lustre 
of  gladsome  joy  had  departed  from  his  eya  No  melting 
strains  of  impassioned  song  were  wafted  on  the  passing  gaJe 
from  his  now  trembling,  ashy  lips,  but  a  weird  and  ominous 
silence  rested  in  the  chamber  of  death,  where,  on  his  couch  of 
darkness,  they  had  laid  him  down  to  die ! 

Some  stood  in  grief  around  his  lowly  bed,  while  others 


—  -^ 


LEGEND  OF  THE  GROVE.  69 

affectionately  held  his  hot  and  aching  head ;  all  silently 
wondering  what  dark  and  poisonous  sorrow  it  could  be  that 
in  so  brief  a  space  had  mysteriously  wrought  a  change  so 
heart-rending  and  ujiaccountabla  As  they  gazed,  still  sharper 
and  sharper  grew  his  shrunken,  death-like  features;  his 
bosom  heaved  like  the  swelling  billows  of  a  dark  and  troubled 
sea ;  and  his  lips  gave  forth  tortured  and  fitful  expression  to 
stifled  groans  of  deep,  unutterable  agony  1  All  wishing  he 
would  speak  and  solve  the  dreadful  mystery,  he  wildly 
yet  coherently  uttered,  in  shrill  affecting  tones  that  pierced 
every  heart,  the  well  known  name  of  one  he  had  loved. 

Scarcely  were  the  words  uttered,  when  a  rustling  noise  was 
suddenly  heard  in  the  now  dimly-lighted  chamber  of  the  dying 
youtL  The  attendants  in  amazement  looked  around  whence 
the  sound  proceeded.  Before  them  stood,  in  robes  of  flowing 
white,  and  with  a  sad,  dejected  air,  a  form  of  queenly  and 
majestic  beauty.  Waving  her  jewelled  hand  on  high,  she, 
like  a  restless  spirit  from  the  other  world,  quickly  passed 
them  by,  and  stood  for  a  moment  in  silence  beside  the  dying 
bed  of  Edmund  Grsema  Then  weeping  like  a  sobbing  child, 
she  gently  raised  his  drooping  head,  and  gazed  on  his  dim, 
glazed  eyes  with  agonising  and  hopeless  sadness,  for  the  vital 
spark  had  fled  for  ever,  and  the  dead  body  of  her  lover  lay 
cold  and  helpless  in  her  arms!  Embracing  the  cold,  cold 
clay,  she  wildly  implored  Almighty  God  to  bereave  her  at  once 
of  life,  and  lay  her  in  silence  beside  the  slumbering  dead. 

Then  in  the  hushed  and  awful  stillness  that  once  more 
prevailed,  she  shriekingly  thus  gave  full  vent  to  her  torturing 
agony — 

"  Oh,  Edmund !  Edmund !  My  own — my  well-beloved !  I 
wish  I  had  died  for  thee !  Pure  as  an  angel's,  changeless  and 
unstained,  the  love  you  bore  to  me." 

Then  with  a  wild,  unearthly,  high  authoritative  air,  her 
hand  uplifted,  and  her  bright,  keen  eyes  piercing  the  innermost 
recesses  of  the  soul,  she  conjured  the  watchers  with  witching 
power  to  meet  her  on  the  Hunter  Hill  that  evening  as  the 


70  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

knell  of  the  midnight  hour  was  solemnly  sounded  from  the 
convent  bell  of  St  Fergus,  that  she  might  give  them  instructions 
as  to  the  burial  of  the  dead ! 

The  muffled  chime  of  St  Fergus*  bell  now  struck  the  witching 
hour  of  twelve,  and  the  attendants  of  Edmund  Grceme,  in 
obedience  to  the  strange  summons  of  the  apparition,  now  slowly 
wended  their  moon-lit  way  up  the  rugged,  heath-clad  Hunter 
Hill,  to  receive  instructions  as  to  the  mysterious  burial.  The 
night  oppressively  calm  and  still,  they  had  reached  in  silence 
a  lonely  hollow  of  the  hill,  when  suddenly  the  same  weird- 
like rustling  noise  they  had  previously  heard  in  the  chamber  of 
death  struck  upon  their  listening  ears  with  a  harsh  and 
ominous  sound.  Begemmed  with  the  silvery  radiance  of  the 
moon,  before  them  trembling  stood  the  strange,  unearthly 
being  they  had  seen  in  the  early  part  of  the  evening  at  the 
bedside  of  their  young  master,  Edmund  Grseme. 

With  the  same  majestic  wave  of  her  jewelled  hand, 
she  beckoned  them  to  approach,  and  thus,  in  the  sad  and 
thrilling  accents  of  grief,  solemnly  and  measuredly  addressed 
them : — 

"  In  all  the  spring  flush  of  life's  young  bloom  and  radiant 
beauty,  we  here  for  the  first  time  met ;  and  here  now  must  be 
our  lonely,  isolated  tomb.  'Twas  here  I  broke  his  trusting, 
loving  heart,  and  hiere  beside  my  own  must  that  heart  rest, 
tiU  disinterred  to  life  at  the  Great  Assize  on  the  Eesurrection 
mom.  A  hell  I  feel  without — a  hell  within — ^Great  Grod  !  my 
treachery  and  sin  forgive — oh  !  cast  me  not  away  from  thy 
sight  and  presence  for  evermore — ^from  hope  that  comes  to  all, 
debar  not  utterly  my  guilty,  yet  repentant  soul. — ^List !  Make 
thou  the  coffin  fit  for  two,  and  lay  us  gently  and  tenderly 
beneath  this  bleak  and  heathy  turf,  planting  afterwards 
around  a  shady  beechen  grove,  dark  yet  fitting  emblem  of  our 
ill-fated  love,  and  of  the  Double  Bier  ! " 

Watching  again  beside  the  dead,  the  attendants,  in  alarm, 
see  noiselessly  approach  the  expected  spiritual  visitor.  Her 
countenance  is  pale  yet  comely,  and  her  eye  brightly  intellect- 


LEGEND  OF  THE  GROVK  71 

ual  and  clear ;  but  she  comes  not  in  flowing  robes  of  glistening 
sheen,  but  clothed  in  a  ghastly  linen  shroud !  Noiselessly  she 
steps  to  where  the  double  coffin  lies,  rapt  gazing  lovingly  and 
long  on  the  dead  youth  sleeping  silently  his  last  sleep.  Un- 
veOing,  then,  her  snowy  bosom,  she  brings  forth  flowers  of 
the  richest  perfume  and  jewels  of  the  costliest  workmanship. 
These  she  solemnly  lays  on  his  cold,  cold  breast,  with  many 
a  fervent  prayer  for  the  repose  of  his  departed  soul.  Taking 
a  last  fond  look  of  the  dead,  she  gathers  round  her  in  flowing 
folds  her  long  white  shroud,  and  lays  herself  gently  down 
beside  her  unconscious  victim ;  to  both  a  dark  and  unexpected 
doom — to  her  a  martyr's  crown ! 

Awed  by  the  dread,  terrific  scene,  and  when  all  again  was 
calm  and  still,  the  attendants  furtively  and  quickly  shut  the 
coffin-lid,  and  solemnly  bent  their  solitary  way  to  bury  its 
occupants  in  the  Hunter  Hill,  ere  the  morning  broke  in 
streaks  of  grey,  cold  light  o*er  the  desolate  and  mysterious  scene. 

Many  long  years  have  passed  away  since  then,  and  the 
young  saplings  of  beech  have  grown  into  high,  umbrageous 
trees,  grimly  guarding  those  who  sleep  below,  for  whom  yet 
blooming  maidens  weep,  and  pitying  tears  are  shed,  when  in 
the  long  winter  evenings  their  sad  and  sorrowful  tale  is 
tremblingly  told  by  the  blazing  hearths  of  the  happy  cottagers 
of  Strathmore. 

Tis  said«  when  all  is  calm  and  still  in  the  moon-lit  winter 
eves,  the  spirit  of  the  departed  hovers  mysteriously  over  the 
enchanted  grove ;  and  when  a  maiden  passes  underneath  its 
bare  and  weird-like  boughs  she  utters  an  entreating  cry,  kind 
beckoning  her  to  visit  the  living  tomb,  and  conjuring  her  never 
to  deceive  a  faithful,  trusting  heart,  nor  grieve  by  coquetry  or 
crime  him  whose  aflections  she  has  unalterably  and  affection- 
ately won ;  and  when  beside  the  lonely  mountain  grave,  she, 
shrieking,  wildly  cries  : — 

"  Young  maiden,  oh,  beware  1 

And  ne'er  by  love's  deceitful  smile 
Confiding,  truthful  hearts  beguile — 
Beware — Beware — ^Beware  ! " 


CHAPTER    IX. 

LEGEND  OF   JANE  DOUGLAS,   LADY  GLAMIS,   BURNED  ON  THE 

CASTLE  HILL  OF  EDINBURGH. 

King  James,  for  former  wrongs,  long  bore 

To  Angus'  house  a  grudge,  and  swore, 

While  he  the  crown  of  Scotland  wore, 

No  Douglas  e'er  should  refuge  find 

In  castle,  cot,  with  serf  or  hind ; 

And  banished  exiles  did  they  roam. 

Far  from  their  much-loved  mountain  home. 

We  are  now  getting  gradually  out  of  the  hazy  atmosphere  of 
ancient  and  historical  tradition,  and  after  this  talef  of  witch- 
craft is  ended,  we  shall  bask  in  the  more  congenial  and 
sunnier  region  of  the  heart  and  the  affections. 

As  has  already  been  observed,  while  descanting  on  events 
so  remote  as  those  hitherto  alluded  to,  it  is  necessary  to  bear 
in  mind  that  the  earlier  period  of  the  history  of  Scotland  is 
involved  in  great  obscurity ;  and  that,  notwithstanding  the 
fact  that  Chalmers  and  Hailes  have  dispelled  to  a  great 
extent  the  darkness  in  which  the  earlier  period  of  Scottish 
history  had  hitherto  been  enveloped,  even  their  explanatory 
statements  must  still  be  received  with  some  degree  of  caution, 
if  not  with  distrust. 

The  barbarous  execution,  however,  of  Lady  Glamis  on  the 
Castle  Hill  of  Edinburgh,  on  the  1 7th  July  1537,  in  the  reign 
of  James  Y.,  for  an  alleged  attempt  to  hasten  the  King's  death 
by  the  imaginary  crime  of  withcraft,  and  thereby  to  restore 
the  expatriated  house  of  Angus,  is  incontrovertible  matter  of 


LEGEND  OF  JANE  DOUGLAS  AND  LADY  GLAMIS.  73 

history.  It  does  appear  singular,  however,  that,  while  all  the 
Scottish  historians  declare  their  belief  in  the  innocence  of  Lady 
Glamis,  Sir  Walter  Scott  should  express  a  contrary  opinion, 
and  darkly  hint  that  the  effect  of  these  unhallowed  rites  was 
often  accelerated  by  the  administration  of  poison.  He  ex- 
culpates James  also,  by  saying  that  "  the  cruelty  was  that  of 
the  age,  not  of  the  sovereign."  In  almost  the  next  sentence, 
however,  he  virtually  resigns  the  question,  by  saying — "  The 
license  which  he  (the  King)  gave  to  the  vindictive  persecution 
of  the  Protestants  seems  to  have  originated  in  that  personal 
severity  of  temper  already  noticed.  His  inexorable  hatred  of 
the  Douglases  partakes  of  the  same  character.  No  recollection 
of  early  familiarity,  no  degree  of  personal  merit,  would  enduce 
him  to  extend  any  favour  to  an  individual  of  that  detested 
name." 

This  hatred  of  the  Douglases  by  King  James  being  at  the 
root,  and  doubtless,  the  real  cause  of  the  criminal  accusation 
against  Lady  Glamis,  let  us  glance  for  a  moment  at  the  origin 
of  this  vindictive  spirit  displayed  by  the  King  to  the  house  of 
Angus. 

It  occurred  in  this  wise :  When  Lennox  and  his  host  arrived 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Kirkliston,  previous  to  the  battle  of 
that  name,  Angus  rushed  out  of  Edinburgh  to  support  Arran. 
Sir  George  Douglas  followed  immediately  thereafter,  bringing 
with  him  the  young  King,  and  a  goodly  number  of  the  citizens 
of  Edinburgh.  The  conflict  was  hotly  and  pretty  equally 
maintained,  and  the  noise  of  the  artillery  on  both  sides  waxed 
louder  and  louder.  The  King,  by  no  means  naturally  courage- 
ous, betrayed  great  unwillingness  to  remain,  which  Sir 
George  observing,  addressed  his  Royal  master  in  these  memor- 
able words — **I  read  you' Majesty's  thoughts,"  said  the  stem 
Douglas ;  "  but  do  not  deceive  yourself.  If  your  enemies  had 
hold  of  you  on  one  side,  and  we  on  the  other,  we  would  tear 
you  asunder  rather  than  quit  our  hold '' — ^rash,  fatal  words, 
which  the  King  never  forgave.  Although  the  Earl  of  Angus 
subsequently,  and  in  many  ways,  by  acts  of  moderation  and 


74  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

clemency  to  the  Royal  army  when  they  besieged  his  garrisoned 
Castle  of  Tantallon,  endeavoured  to  molliiy  the  King's  resent- 
ment, James  bitterly  remembered  the  wrongs  which  he  had  re- 
ceived, and  felt  no  gratitude  for  this  forbearance  and  mercy  on 
the  part  of  his  subject.  On  the  contrary,  he  solemnly  swore, 
in  his  anger,  that  no  Douglas  should,  while  he  lived  and 
reigned,  find  favour  or  countenance  in  Scotland.  Henry  VIII. 
used  all  the  intercession  he  could  in  the  Earl's  favour ;  but  it 
was  not  until  the  death  of  James  that  the  Douglases  were  re- 
tored  to  their  native  country  of  Scotland. 

In  the  following  legend  I  have  assumed,  as  I  am  entitled  to 
do,  that  Lady  Glamis  was  innocent  of  the  crimes,  imaginary 
or  otherwise,  which  were  laid  to  her  charge  and,  in  accordance 
with  this  view,  have  depicted  her  character,  trial  and  cruel 
and  unjust  puishment.  An  extorted  confession  was  in  those 
days  of  little  avail  to  the  unfortunate  prisoner  accused  of 
witchcraft,  for,  whether  she  confessed  or  not,  a  cruel  and 
ignominious  death  was  her  certain  doom.  The  assumed  con- 
fession, therefore,  of  Lady  Glamis  must  not  be  taken  as  any 
indication  or  proof  of  her  guilt.  She  was  arraigned  on  the 
double  charge  of  witchcraft  and  conspiracy ;  and,  from  the 
well-known  inexorable  hatred  of  the  King  to  her  family,  she 
knew  no  mercy  would  ever  be  extended  to  her,  far  less  an 
honourable  acquital.  To  have  prolonged  the  sufferings  of 
Lord  Glamis  would  have  had  the  effect  of  sacrificing  his  life 
as  well  as  her  own.  She  is  therefore  represented  as  making 
the  exclamation  "  Guilty  ! "  that  she  might  thereby  save  the 
life  of  her  son,  as  fall  a  sacrifice  she  must  herself,  whether  she 
made  the  confession  or  not. 

A  family  union  had  again  been  consummated  between  the 
two  noble  Houses  of  Angus  and  Strathmore.  Lady  Jane 
Douglas  became  the  bride  and  happy  wife  of  Lord  Glamis. 
Her  wedded  happiness,  however,  was  not  of  long  duration. 
Soon  after  the  birth  of  their  first-bom,  the  Lord  Glamis,  after 
a  lingering  illness,  was  summoned  to  give  in  his  final  account, 
and  died  much  lamented  by  his  family  and  dependants. 


LEGEND  OF  JANE  DOUGLAS  AND  LADY  GLAMIS.     75 

The  Lady  Glamis,  his  widow,  not  only  proved  a  truly 
enlightened  and  affectionate  mother,  but  earned  ^the  highest 
encomiums  from  all  the  dwellers  in  Strathmore  for  her  many 
unostentatious  deeds  of  mercy  and  compassionate  love.  With- 
out the  family  haughty  pride  of  her  race,  and  disdaining  the 
chivalric  amusements  of  the  day,  she  found,  and  delighted  to 
have  found,  a  wide-spread  field  for  the  exercise  of  her  amiable 
virtues  in  ministering  to  the  wants  and  necessities,  not  only 
of  those  belonging  to  her  own  household,  but  of  all  who 
came  within  the  wide  scope  of  her  benign  influence.  Hence, 
not  only  in  lowly  cot  and  courtly  hall  were  her  praises  sung 
in  every  household,  but  her  fame  spontaneously  spread 
through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land  as  one  who,  by 
her  deeds  of  benevolence,  and  philanthropic  interest  in  all 
that  pertains  and  ministers  to  the  welfare  and  happiness  of 
mankind,  had  raised  her  name  to  a  pinnacle  of  renown  which 
crowned  and  mitred  heads  might  envy,  but  which,  in  all  their 
ambitious  strivings,  they  could  never  reach,  far  less  surpass. 

The  fame  of  Lady  Glamis,  universal  as  it  was,  could  not  be 
long  in  penetrating  to  the  Court  of  James,  and  from  the 
implacable  hatred  of  the  King  to  all,  whether  male  or  female, 
who  bore  the  detested  name  of  Douglas,  it  required  little 
persuasion  on  the  part  of  his  servile  courtiers  to  poison  the 
Royal  mind  against  the  sister  of  Angus,  against  whose  house 
the  fatal  proscription  pronounced  waa  only  waiting  its 
practical  fulfilment. 

In  that  age  of  foul  superstition  and  gross  moral  darkness, 
every  benevolent  action,  every  good  deed  of  mercy,  and  every 
lofty  philanthropic  aspiration,  were  maliciously  traced  to  im- 
aginary witchcraft,  in  conjunction  with,  and  at  the  instigation 
of,  the  Evil  One.  Thus  noiselessly  around  the  Lady  Glamis 
did  the  clouds  of  evil  omen  gather,  and  the  meshes  of  envy 
and  revenge  encircle  themselves  in  an  impenetrable  labjrrinth. 

With  artful  skill  the  hellish  plot  was  laid,  and  soon  carried 
out  with  a  ready  and  fiendish  wilL  Accused  of  harbouring 
against  the  King  designs  to  poison   his  Majesty,  and   of 


i  6  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

exercising  her  power  of  witchcraft  to  restore  the  expatriated 
House  of  Angus,  Lady  Glamis  was  rudely  seized,  while 
occupied  in  deeds  of  mercy  in  the  village,  and  carried  off  a 
prisoner  to  Edinburgh.  Her  youthful  son,  Lord  Glamis,  was 
also  ignominiously  and  forcibly  bound ;  and  one  of  his  ovm 
kin  was  found  so  base  as  to  guide  the  cavalcade,  and  to  guard 
with  mock  pride  the  ill-fated  prisoners  to  the  capital. 

It  was  an  awful,  solemn,  impressive  scene !  There,  on  an 
elevated  bench  in  the  ancient  Parliament  House,  sat  high  in 
state  the  bewigged  and  crimson-robed  Judges,  with  the 
mild  and  gracious  Argyll  as  their  President;  while  the 
crowded  Court  was  composed  not  only  of  the  worthy  burgesses 
and  sightseers  of  the  city,  but  of  the  high  and  noble  of  every 
rank  in  the  land. 

The  fair  prisoner  is  now  placed  at  the  bar.  Every  voice  is 
silent,  every  sound  is  hushed,  every  eye  is  searchingly  directed 
to  the  beautiful  creature,  calm  and  resigned  in  conscious 
innocence,  arraigned  before  her  country  on  the  double  charge 
of  witchcraft  and  conspiracy.  Notwithstanding  the  powerful 
influence  which  superstition  and  the  actual  belief  in  witchcraft 
exercised  over  the  minds  of  the  people  in  general,  there  was 
not  one  in  all  that  crowded  Court  who  could  look  on  the 
lovely  form  and  angelic  mien  of  the  accused  without  from  the 
heart  commiserating  her  unhappy  fate.  This  marked  ex- 
pression of  pity  contrasted  strangely,  yet  forcibly,  with  the 
fierce,  revengeful  looks,  and  savage,  restless  demeanour  of  her 
persecutors,  who  inwardly  thirsted  for  her  precious  blood, 
and  eagerly  longed  to  see  the  blazing  faggots  consume  with 
merciless  rage  her  majestic  yet  trembling  frame,  and  cloud 
with  guilt  and  shame  her  fair,  unsullied  brow. 

There  was  now  a  dread  and  ominous  pause  ;  for  the  wiry, 
sinister-looking  doomsters  triumphantly  brought  into  the 
Court  the  dreaded  thumbkins,  the  boot,  and  the  screw — 
precursors  of  excruciating  anguish  and  agonising  torture. 
The  youthful  Lord  Glamis  was  then  rudely  led  into  the 
presence  of  the  Judges,  guarded,  like  a  malefactor,  by  a  body 


LEGEND  OF  JANE  DOUGLAS  AND  LADY  GLAMIS.     77 

of  armed  soldiers.  His  eye,  for  a  moment,  restlessly  wandered 
o'er  the  august  and  solemn  scene,  and  he  felt  dejected  and 
oppressed.  At  last,  through  his  sorrowful  tears,  he,  en- 
raptured, caught  sight  of  the  prisoner,  and  from  his  ashy  lips 
there  burst  the  thrilling  cry,  "  My  Mother ! "  Then,  by 
strong  impulse  borne  along,  and  dashing  aside  the  arms  of  the 
soldiery,  he  rushed  among  the  wondering  crowd,  and  strove, 
with  fondest  affection,  to  embrace  her  who  was  dearer  to  him 
than  life  itself.  But  the  officers  of  the  Court  overpowered  him, 
and  forcibly  placed  him  face  to  face  with  the  enraged  Judges, 
who  lost  no  time  in  commencing  their  interrogatories. 

He  was  then  solemnly  asked  if  ever  he  had  seen  that 
sorceress  at  the  bar  at  any  time  plying  her  wicked  incantations, 
and  if  he  knew  that  King  James  was  doomed  to  die  by  her 
invoked  conspiracy  1 

The  Lord  of  Glamis  not  only  passionately  denied  these 
charges  against  his  mother,  but,  to  end  the  sad  suspense, 
declared  aloud  his  firm,  unalterable  belief  in  her  innocence. 

The  Judges  looked  incredulous ;  and  the  prosecutor  could 
not  brook  to  lose  his  victim,  the  latter  thus  fiercely  giving 
vent  to  his  ungovernable  rage  and  bitter  disappointment — 

"Though  all  these  charges  have  been  denied,  escape  she 
shall  not ;  for  soon,  yea,  on  the  early  morrow,  like  the  vilest 
of  malefactors,  shall  she  be  bound  to  the  stake  or  gallows-tree, 
burnt  by  the  blazing,  crackling  flames,  and  dogs  be  left  to 
Uck  her  blood  ! '' 

This  brutal  speech  changed  in  an  instant  the  feelings  of  the 
savage  throng,  superstition's  mystic  power  regaining  com. 
pletely  the  mastery  over  them.  They  even  chid  the  passing 
hour,  so  impatient  had  they  become  to  glut  their  eye  on  the 
expectant,  fearful  tragedy. 

Addressing  the  prisoner,  the  Judges  fiercely  exclaimed — 

"  Confess  thy  crime." 

"  Oh  !  innocent  1 "  she  firm  replied. 

The  instruments  of  torture  were,  dark  and  grim,  again 
displayed,  and  the  vile  doomsters,  with  a  ready  will,  at  once 


78  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

proceeded  to  the  exercise  of  their  nefarious  skilL  Seizing 
young  Glamis — who,  meanwhile,  had  cabnly  viewed  the  dread 
preparations  of  death — ^they  rudely  and  fiercely  tortured  him 
with  savage  glee,  and  mocked,  with  hitter  irony,  his  writhing 
and  excruciating  agony,  while,  ever  between  his  wild  and 
piercing  cries,  the  prisoner  still  firmly  replifd  to  all  entreaties 
to  confess — 

"  Oh !  cease  to  torture  one  so  dear  to  my  heart.  No 
agonising  grief,  no  slavish  fear,  can  ever  compel  me,  in  my  own 
defence,  vilely  to  disprove  my  innocence." 

Enraged  at  the  coolness  of  Lady  Glamis,  and  her  declarations 
of  conscious  innocence,  the  brutal  Judges  frowned  .the  more 
savagely  on  the  fair  prisoner, .  and,  ordering  Glamis  to  be 
more  firmly  bound,  and  other  means  of  torture  to  be  tried  to 
make  him  testify  against  his  mother,  they  leaned  back  in  their 
chairs,  assured  of  a  hopeful  and  successful  result. 

The  sensitive  flesh  of  the  young  witness  was  now  savagely 
torn  by  formidable  pinchers,  prepared  and  sharpened  for  the 
occasion  -,  his  bones,  full  of  sap  and  marrow,  were  broken  on  the 
wheel ;  and,  shorn  of  all  his  pristine  strength  he  helplessly  lay 
a  bleeding  mass  of  shapeless,  almost  insensate  clay  !  Still, 
other  instruments  of  torture  were  gleefully  brought  by  the 
cruel  and  merciless  doomsters,  and  these  were  successfully  plied 
with  hellish  energy,  till  from  his  ghastly,  reeking  wounds  the 
blood  gushed  forth  in  purple  streams,  and  from  his  tortured 
bosom  there  fitfully  and  mournfully  came  at  intervals  the 
stifled  groans  of  deepest  agony. 

Hush !  what  wild  and  thrilling  shriek  was  that  ?  Awe- 
struck, and  dumb  with  terror,  the  crowd  sways  to  and  fro  in 
eager,  keen  expectancy  of  some  weird,  unearthly  revelation  I 
The  prosecutor  is  effectually  cowed  into  silence,  and  the 
stricken  judges,  for  the  moment  like  the  leaves  of  the  aspen, 
shake  and  tremble  with  visible  emotion. 

All  eyes  are  directed  to  the  dock,  for  it  was  from  thence  the 
shriek  proceeded : — 

"  Guilty  !  guilty  ! "   Lady  Glamis  energetically  exclaimed 


LEGEND  OF  JANE  DOUGLAS  AND  LADY  GLAMIS.      79 

"  Save !  oh,  save  my  son !  Dishonoured  be  my  name,  if  so 
be  his  be  left  spotless  and  unstained  !  For  him — my  son,  my 
only  son — I  give  up  life ;  for  him  I  give  up  hope ;  for  him  I 
give  up — alL" 

That  very  night  the  impatient,  bloodthirsty  throng  with 
blazing  torches  sped  along  to  the  Castle  Hill,  where  Lady 
Glamis  was  summarily  doomed  to  die.  And  there,  resigned 
and  cheerful,  bound  to  the  blazing  stake  she  stood  ;  her  lovely 
form  arrayed  in  the  white  robes  of  purity,  her  hands  clasped 
firm  upon  her  spotless  breast,  and  her  bright,  longing  eye 
upturned  and  rapturously  fixed  upon  the  star-lit  far  oflf  sky  ! 
So  heaven-like,  so  spiritual  and  ethereal,  and  yet  so  intensely 
human  did  she  seem,  that  a  revulsion  of  feeling  was  caused 
thereby  in  the  heart  of  everyone  who  beheld  her ;  and  when 
the  burning  faggots  crackling,  and  mercilessly  fierce,  roared 
and  rioted  in  their  furious  rage  around  their  resigned  and 
silent  victim,  all,  from  the  heart,  deplored  that  one  so  bright 
in  beauty's  bloom  should  meet  with  a  doom  so  very  fearful 
and  so  very  sad  ! 

Dread  silence  reigned  over  that  great  living  sea  of  waving 
heads,  which  luridly  shone  in  the  dark,  sulphureous  gloom, 
until,  like  the  dread,  dark  shadows  of  the  tomb,  the  whirling 
and  ever-thickening  murky  smoke  cast  its  funereal  mantle  over 
the  dismal  scene,  and  the  winds,  aroused  from  their  ominous 
repose,  howled  sweeping  past  in  eerie  cadence,  like  damned 
spirits  in  their  throes  of  hopeless  agony  !  Soon,  however,  the 
tempest  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  arose ;  and  in  the  intervening 
calm  the  stifling  canopy  of  smoke  cleared  gradually  away,  and 
the  bright  red  flames  lit  up,  as  before,  the  angel  form  of  the 
fair  sufferer ;  but — 

The  fire  had  scorch'd  her  bosom  fair, 
DisheveUed  hung  her  raven  hair  ; 
And  yet,  with  sweet,  angelic  air, 
Still  to  the  blazing  pile  she  clung, 
While  to  her  God  high  praise  she  sung ; 
And  when  her  yoice  grew  faint  and  low, 
Soft  music  sweet  was  heard  to  flow, 
And  then,  by  angels*  chariots  driyen, 
She  wing'd  her  flight  to  God  and  heaven ! 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE  forester's  DAUGHTER. 

"  "Tis  sad  to  see  the  eye  forget  its  ray, 
And  sorrow  sit  where  smiles  were  wont  to  play ; 
'TIS  sad,  when  youth  is  fair,  and  fresh,  and  warm. 
And  life  is  fraught  with  every  sweeter  charm, 
To  see  it  close  the  lips  and  droop  the  head, 
Wane  from  the  earth,  and  mingle  with  the  dead.  " 

Montgomery. 

Many  and  strong  are  the  emotions  awakened  in  the  minds  of 
these  who  are  removed  to  a  distance  from  the  scenes  of  their 
youth  by  the  soul-stirring  yet  simple  words,  the  "village 
green  !"  What  delightful  visions  of  innocent  enjoyments  and 
happy  meetings,  and  loud  and  hearty  merriment,  and  ringing 
laughter,  and  shouts  of  gladsome  joy,  float  in  welcome  vision 
before  the  jaded  mind,  oft  vibrating  anew  its  tuneless  chords, 
and  ministering  a  sad  and  melancholy  joy,  which  dispels  for 
a  time  the  clouds  of  sorrow  and  disappointment  which  darken 
the  present  and  obscure  the  future  from  the  view  !  Beauti- 
ful vision  of  the  past !  How  often  in  the  lonely  midnight 
hour,  when  all  around  was  hushed  in  quiet  and  refreshing 
sleep,  hast  thou  come  to  me  with  thy  soft  and  silvery  voices, 
as  from  a  far-ofif  land,  and  with  thy  retrospective  scenes  of 
innocence,  and  purity,  and  love,  soothing,  like  some  angel  of 
the  sky,  my  wearied  and  troubled  spirit  to  calm  and  peaceful 
repose  1  Beloved  vision  of  the  past !  though  thou  bringest 
pain  as  well  as  joy,  still,  0,  hover  o'er  my  chequered  path 
with  thy  golden  sunny  wings,  and  whisper  in  gentlest  tone 
the  tales  of  other  years  when  life  itself  was  young ;  and  cease 
not  thy  welcome  visits  till  I  sleep  with  the  mouldering  dead 


THE  forester's  DAUGHTER.  81 

in  the  lone  churchyard  of  my  fathers,  where  at  last  the  world 
will  cease  from  trouhling,  and  where  the  weary  will  be  at 
rest 

Standing  on  the  bridge  at  Glamis  and  looking  southward 
towards  the  Hunter  Hill,  there  was  not  a  more  joyous  sight 
to  be  seen  in  the  days  of  yore  than  that  of  the  youngsters  of 
the  parish  disporting  themselves,  after  the  weary  hours  with 
participles  and  verbs  in  the  small,  ill-ventilated  school,  in  all 
the  joyous  and  boisterous  ecstasy  of  pure  and  happy  hearts,  at 
foot-ball,  racing,  or  leap^the-frog,  and  then,  exhausted  with 
their  frolicsome  play,  wending  each  his  several  way  to  his 
home  in  the  strath  or  the  glen.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  how- 
ever, there  are  comparatively  few  of  those  who  romped  and 
walked,  in  apparently  soul-knit  and  loving  friendship  together, 
in  the  morning  of  life,  who,  after  the  lapse  of  years,  retain  the 
slightest  remembrance  of  each  other,  far  less  the  cherished 
friendships  of  their  youth,  at  one  time  thought  to  be  so  lasting 
and  sincere. 

After  the  roystering  play  of  the  village  green,  and  before 
wending  my  way  along  the  base  of  the  Hunter  Hill  to  my  home 
in  the  glen,  it  was  my  custom  to  rest  for  a  while  in  the  sweet 
cottage  of  the  forester,  Hector  Wood,  whose  eldest  daughter, 
Eliza,  my  playmate  and  companion  at  school,  always  brought 
me  on  these  occasions,  enriched  with  her  sunniest  and  sweet- 
est smiles,  a  basin  of  whey  or  sweet  milk,  as  a  welcome 
refresher  after  my  victories  or  mishaps  in  the  mimic  field  of 
battle.  Sometimes  Eliza  wouldlaughingly  accompany  meashort 
way  on  my  return  to  watch  with  me  the  quick  and  graceful 
motions  of  the  pretty  minnows  disporting  themselves  in  the 
quiet  shady  pools  of  the  bum ;  to  pull  the  purple  bells,  the 
graceful  ferns,  and  starlike  anemones,  which  lined  and  beauti- 
fied our  woodland  path;  or  to  gather,  in  their  season,  the 
wild  raspberries,  small,  yet  lusciously  sweet,  which  grew  in 
Abundance  on  the  sunny  slopes  of  the  far-stretching  hill. 

On  these  occasions  my  young  companion  arrayed  herself 
in  neither  bonnet  nor  cloak,  but  romped  about  in  all  the 

r 


82  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

graceful  neglige  of  unadorned,  sweet,  artless  beauty.  Apart 
from  her  sylph-like  comely  form,  her  pure  and  delicate  com- 
plexion, her  sparklingly  expressive  eyes,  and  her  flowing 
tresses  of  sunny  brown,  her  voice,  in  its  ringing  laughter,  as 
well  as  in  its  moods  of  pensive  sadness,  had  in  it  an  indescrib- 
able thrill  of  spiritual  feeling  and  magical  sweetness.  In  the 
spring-time  of  youth,  in  the  summer  of  manhood,  in  the 
winter  of  old  age,  how  irresistibly  powerful,  how  preciously 
sweet,  the  hallowed,  blessed  tones  of  woman's  voice  ! 

As  she  flitted  like  a  sunbeam  among  the  shrubs  and  flowers, 
or  intently  gazed  at  intervals  on  the  harping  pines  high  over- 
head on  the  hill,  I  thought.  Eliza  indeed  very  beautiful, 
although  my  bojrish  thoughts  could  not  as  yet  express  them- 
selves in  words.  Sometimes  in  the  bursting  exuberance  of 
my  passionate  feelings,  I  awkwardly,  and  it  must  be  confessed, 
very  bashfully,  essayed  to  speak,  but  she  intuitively  compre- 
hending my  meaning,  much  to  my  chagrin  and  disapointment, 
was  gone  in  an  instant !  Once,  when  years  had  rolled  on,  and 
we  were  becoming  shyer  and  more  distant  to  each  other,  she 
brought  me  a  bunch  of  blaeberries  from  the  hill,  and  seating 
herself  at  my  request  beside  me  on  the  bank  of  the  stream, 
instead  of  taking  the  fruit,  I  gently  took  her  lily-white  hand 
in  mine,  the  momentary  pressure  of  which  sent  a  new,  strange, 
tumultuous  thrill  through  my  trembling  frame,  and  a  sweet, 
holy,  indescribable  joy  to  my  beating  heart — which  have  never 
come  again  !  No  words  would  come  to  my  relief,  and  in  the 
confused  half  sad,  half  joyful,  abstraction  of  the  moment,  the 
dove  had  fled — I  was  alone ! 

Hector  Wood,  the  forester  at  Glamis,  was  in  many  re- 
spects the  chosen  Mend  of  my  youth.  Intelligent,  kind- 
hearted,  shrewd,  with  an  education  above  his  rank  in  life, 
and  a  thorough  practical  knowledge  of  his  profession,  he  was 
much  esteemed  and  generally  respected  throughout  the 
Howe.  It  was  one  of  my  greatest  delights  to  accompany  the 
worthy  forester  in  his  official  inspection  of  the  woods  on  the 
summer  holiday  afternoons,  and  to  hear  him  describe   the 


THE  forester's  DAUGHTER.  83 

several  varieties  and  qualities  of  the  various  trees  that  grew 
in  rich  luxuriance  on  the  Hunter  Hill,  or  spread  their  um- 
brageous branches  on  the  stately  lawns  that  stretched  in 
sylvan  beauty  around  the  ancient  Castle  of  Glamis.  I  thus 
in  the  most  delightful  manner  acquired  that  theoretical 
knowledge  of  landscape  gardening,  which  not  only  proved  a 
source  of  intense  delight  in  my  youth,  but  a  precious  mine  of 
inexhaustible  wealth  in  after-years.  Previously  the  wooded 
glades  and  pine-clad  hills  were  to  me  a  rich  yet  undefined 
mass  of  luxuriant  foliage.  Now,  their  several  undulating 
lines  of  ever-changing  beauty  analysed,  individualised,  I 
could  name  every  tree  of  the  forest,  every  bush  in  the 
thicket,  and  every  wildflower  that  blushed  in  virgin  beauty 
on  the  brow  of  the  lonely  hills. 

Had  every  lover  of  Nature  even  a  limited  knowledge  of 
botany,  zoology,  geology,  and  the  other  kindred  sciences,  how 
much  increased  and  intensified  would  his  interest  and  delight 
be  in  the  far-stretching  landscape  of  hill  and  dale,  in  the 
bloom  of  the  wayside  flower,  in  the  beasts  of  the  field  and  the 
fowls  of  the  air,  in  the  strata  and  formation  of  the  rocks, 
and  in  the  antediluvian  deposits  and  remains  embedded  in 
the  bowels  and  innermost  recesses  of  the  earth !  In  like 
manner,  with  a  knowledge  of  architecture,  be  it  Gothic  or 
classic,  how  much  more  instructive  and  interesting  to  us  the 
sight  of  a  beautiful  palatial  city,  with  its  gorgeous  temples 
and  castellated  towers,  than  to  him  who  knows  not  the 
difference  between  a  Doric  and  Corinthian,  an  Ionic  or 
Tuscan  pillar,  and  cannot,  for  the  life  of  him,  distinguish  the 
nave  of  a  cathedral  from  its  transept  or  choir.  Ascending 
higher  in  the  scale  of  intellectual  enjoyment,  how  much  more 
glorious  and  magnificent  the  midnight  heaven  of  worlds  and 
starry  firmament  above,  when,  by  astronomical  ncience,  we 
can  familiarly  name  every  revolving  planet  and  distant  star, 
and  calculate  with  the  greatest  exactness,  their  unvarying 
revolutions  around  the  great  centre  of  attraction  in  universal 
space,  than  when  simply  viewed  through  the  telescope  of 


8  4  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

ordinary  observation,  as  a  mere  celestial  blush  of  ethereal 
splendour,  a  spangled  gewgaw  of  fretted,  burnished  workman- 
ship,  or  a  gilded  childish  spectacle  of  atmospheric  effulgence 
of  undefined,  unmeaning  beauty  ^ 

Having  exhausted  the  curriculum  of  the  parish  school,  the 
time  had  now  arrived  when  I  must  quit  my  native  strath  to 
pursue  elsewhere  my  necessary  studies  preparatory  to 
launching  out  on  the  great  sea  of  life.  On  the  evening 
previous  to  my  departure,  I  had  walked  to  the  village  for 
the  purpose  of  bidding  farewell  to  my  schoolmates  and 
numerous  acquaintances,  which  I  found  to  be  a  more  difficult 
and  affecting  task  than  I  had  anticipated.  It  were  needless 
to  recount  the  many  sorrowful  adieus,  the  many  expressions 
of  good  wishes,  the  many  kindly  shakings  of  the  hand,  that 
I  gratefully  received  and  affectionately  returned.  Suffice  it 
to  say  that,  while  I  felt  the  parting  scene'  very  deeply,  I 
consoled  myself  with  the  comforting  thought  that  the 
separation  was  not  final,  but  temporary,  and  that  I  would 
yet  have  opportunities  of  paying  occasional  visits  to  my 
much-loved  Howe,  and  renewing  for  a  time  those  first  sweet 
friendships  which  I  so  much  valued,  and  which  I  should 
ever  cherish  in  fond  remembrance  of  my  early  youtL 

Having  purposely  reserved  my  adieus  to  the  inmates  of 
the  forester's  cottage  to  the  last,  I  now  approached  the  little 
domicile  by  the  well-known  pathway  up  the  side  of  the  burn. 
I  thought  it  strange — I  don't  so  now — that  the  nearer  I 
approached  the  cottage,  I  felt  the  greater  hesitancy  to  enter 
it,  my  speed  becoming  every  footfall  more  measured  and 
slow,  and  my  heart  beating  the  quicker  the  more  I  lingered 
by  the  way.  To  my  great  relief,  however,  Mrs  Wood  now 
appeared  at  the  open  door  in  anticipation  of  my  visit,  and 
soon  ushered  me  into  the  parlour,  where  I  engaged  for  a  few 
minutes  in  conversation  with  my  good  friend  the  forester, 
and  the  other  members  of  the  fiEumily,  and  then  bade  them  all 
individually  farewell. 
But  where  was  Eliza  1    She  was  not  amongst  the  family 


THE  forester's  DAUGHTER.  85 

gronp  that  had  assembled  in  the  forester's  cottage  to  bid  her 
youthful  companion  farewell !  As  I  slowly  and  thoughtfully 
went  on  my  homeward  way,  the  even-song  of  the  happy  birds 
above,  resounded  through  the  silent  woods,  like  the  requiem 
for  departed  spirits,  and  the  sweet  silvery  song  of  the  rushing 
burn  below  had  in  it,  for  the  first  time  to  me,  a  plaintive 
sound  of  sadness,  akin  to  poignant  pain,  as  if  it  mourned  in 
hopeless  grief  for  the  absent  and  the  lost. 

Full  of  such  new  aud  strangely  depressing  thoughts,  I  had 
reached  a  sudden  turning  of  my  woodland  path,  when,  to  my 
great  surprise  and  infinite  delight,  I  beheld  Eliza  sitting  on  a 
mossy  bank,  arranging  carefully  a  bunch  of  wild  flowers  she 
had  apparently  gathered  on  the  hill.  Seeing  me  approach, 
she  rose  to  meet  me,  when,  without  uttering  a  word  of 
greeting,  or  bidding  me  a  formal  farewell,  she  presented  me 
with  the  beautiful  bouquet,  and  then  suddenly  turned  her 
face  homewards : — 

But  first  love  knowing  no  alarms, 
I  round  her  threw  my  trembling  arms. 
Gazed  in  her  eyes  of  bonnie  blue, 
And  thought  at  least  I  would  be  true  ; 
Then,  rapturously  to  crown  my  bliss, 
I  took  a  long,  long  parting  kiss  : — 
Strange,  in  all  scenes  with  changes  rife, 
I've  felt  that  virgin  kiss  through  life  ! 

Two  years  passed  away,  during  which  time  I  had  not  seen, 
and  heard  but  little,  of  my  native  Howe.  How  eagerly, 
therefore,  I  embraced  the  opportunity  of  returning  home 
during  the  summer  vacation  of  my  third  year  at  college ! 
On  the  afternoon  of  the  day  succeeding  that  of  my  return,  I 
took  my  way  through  the  ancient  wood  to  the  cottage  of  the 
foresters  daughter.  With  a  mind  full  of  doubt  and  anxiety, 
I  hastily  entered  the  well-known  room  in  which  I  had  been 
so  often  received  as  an  ever-welcome  guest.  Eliza,  now 
grown  into  a  fine  comely  woman,  received  me  with  her  usual 
kindness,  yet  with  an  apparent  reserve  and  slight  embarrass- 
ment of  manner,  for  which  I  then  was  sorely  puzzled  to 


86       STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

account.  While  her  father  and  mother  and  other  members 
of  the  family  seated  themselves  beside  me,  and  engaged  in 
earnest  conversation  on  topics  of  mutual  interest,  Eliza  con- 
tinued incessantly  the  performance  of  her  household  duties  : 
indeed  her  assiduity  seemed  to  increase  in  proportion  to  the 
length  of  time  I  remained  in  the  cottage.  Her  finely-propor- 
tioned figure  and  graceful  movements,  the  spring  flush  of 
delicate  beauty  on  her  cheek,  and  the  clear  bright  lustre  of 
intelligence  in  her  sparkling  eye,  did  not,  however,  escape  my 
notice,  or  fail  to  draw  out  my  silent  admiration  of  the  lovely 
creature  before  me,  in  all  the  fascinating  bloom  of  bursting 
womanhood,  surrounded  by  a  halo  of  virgin  innocence  and 
youthful  love. 

I  was  in  the  act  of  attempting  to  draw  the  bashful  maiden 
into  conversation,  when  a  horseman  rode  rapidly  up  to  the 
door  of  the  cottage,  and  delivered  a  startling  message  from 
my  father,  to  the  effect  that  my  brother  Charles  had  got 
himself  entangled  amongst  the  machinery  of  the  mill,  and 
that  the  injuries  he  had  received  in  consequence,  were  of 
such  a  serious  nature,  that  my  presence  was  demanded  at 
home  without  delay.  While  the  horseman  continued  his 
journey  to  Forfar  to  fetch  the  medical  attendant  of  the 
family,  I  hastily  bade  adieu  for  the  present  to  my  kind 
friends  in  the  forester's  cottage,  and,  as  in  duty  bound, 
hastened  with  all  speed  to  obey  my  father's  summons  home. 

As  had  been  foreshadowed,  the  accident  to  my  brother 
had  well  nigh  proved  fatal  to  him,  and  his  recovery  was,  in 
consequence,  exceedingly  tedious  and  slow.  Some  consider- 
able time  elapsed  before  he  could  be  pronounced  out  of 
danger,  and  when  that  period  came  round  my  vacation 
holidays  had  expired.  Anxious  to  pursue  my  classical 
studies,  without  delay  I  bade  a  hasty  adieu  to  my  rural 
home,  without  having  had  the  opportunity  of  paying  a  visit 
to  the  forester's  cottage,  and  of  bidding  all  my  friends 
there,  another  temporary  farewell. 

My  studies  being  now  completed,  I  returned  home  after 


THE  forester's  DAUGHTER.  87 

other  two  years'  absence,  delighted  to  see  once  more  "the 
old  familiar  {aces,"  and  the  lonely  glen  and  lovely  strath  I 
loved  80  well.  My  first  visit  was  spontaneously  paid  to  the 
forester's  cottage,  picturing  to  myself  as  I  went  on  my  way  the 
charms  of  her  who  was  indeed  the  delight  and  sunshine 
of  that  village  home. 

It  was  early  spring,  and  as  I  walked  by  the  side  of  the  burn, 
on  the  well-known  footpath  skirting  the  Hunter  Hill,  the  wel- 
come voice  of  the  cuckoo  resounded  through  the  bursting 
woods,  and  the  wooing  love-songs  of  the  happy  birds  gushed 
forth  in  richest  melody  from  every  budding  spray.  The 
stately  elm  was  clothing  herself  with  her  feathery  leaves,  and 
the  drooping  willow  with  her  silver  palms ;  the  poplar  and 
the  linden,  the  chestnut  and  the  birch,  were  bursting  into 
new  life  in  every  spreading  bough ;  and  the  hawthorn,  the 
laburnum,  and  the  fir  were  loading  the  balmy  air  with  the  sweet 
virgin  incense  of  a  new  and  joyous  life.  In  the  pauses  of 
their  thrilling  songs,  the  little  finches,  green  and  grey  and  gold, 
busied  themselves  in  picking  the  sweetest  buds  from  off  the 
bursting  boughs,  while  the  mavis  and  the  merle  flitted  rest- 
lessly among  the  thickets  before  attuning  their  richly  toned 
notes  to  the  far-resounding  key-note  of  Nature's  resurrection 
mom.  Around  me  blushed  in  virgin  purity  the  primrose  and 
the  snow- drop,  first  welcome  flowerets  of  the  year.  Beyond 
in  the  glen  the  young  wheat  was  upspringing  green  in  the 
furrows,  the  morning  dew  upon  its  tender  leaflets,  like  the 
tears  of  angels  to  fructify  and  bless  the  God-sent  vegetation 
of  the  awakening  earth  for  the  joy  and  maintenance  and  well- 
being  of  man.  In  the  distance,  while  the  diligent  husband- 
man guided  the  ploughshare  on  the  uplands,  the  rooks 
following  in  his  wake  to  catch  the  early  worm,  the  no  less 
diligent  sower  scattered  with  a  plentiful  hand  the  hopeful 
seed  along  the  ridges  of  the  plain,  the  harrows  succeeding  to 
level  the  uneven  ground  and  distribute  the  seed  into  the  long, 
straight  lines  of  formal  beauty,  so  pleasing  to  the  eye  before 
the  luxuriance  of  summer  has  hidden  by  her  rich  effulgence 


88  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

the  virgin  footsteps  of  early  spring.  The  silver  cloudlets 
overhead  moved  gently,  almost  imperceptibly,  in  their  sweet 
unrest,  across  the  ethereal  blue,  revealing  occasional  glimpses 
of  the  upper  firmament  in  all  its  celestial  purity  and  beauty. 

How  like  to  the  spring  of  nature  the  early  morn  of  the  life 
of  man  !  How  akin  to  the  new,  ecstatic  life  of  hill  and  dale, 
and  the  wild  mad  joy  of  beast  and  bird,  to  the  fresh  exuber- 
ant feelings  of  youthful  passion,  and  the  exultant  tumultuous 
revelry  which  holds  high  carnival  in  the  audience-chambers  of 
the  virgin  heart,  untainted  by  deceit,  impurity,  or  crime !  In 
our  early  dreams  of  honourable  ambition,  in  our  high  resolves 
to  win  a  place  and  name  among  the  great  and  good,  how 
have  these  pleasant  dreams  been  sweetened,  how  have  these 
high  resolves  been  strengthened  and  matured  into  practical 
action,  by  the  grand  supporting  thought  that  there  was  in  this 
great  and  mighty  world  at  least  one  heart  that  beat  in  unison 
with  ours,  around  which  all  our  hopes  and  wishes  centred, 
and  for  which  we  would  toil,  and  work,  and  pray,  and  suffer, 
and  sacrifice,  and  endure,  if  so  be  we  could  win  the  prize,  and 
wear  as  the  jewel  of  our  heart  the  unfading,  priceless  gem  of 
a  first,  unselfish,  pure,  unchangeable  love!  Thrice  happy 
those  who  have  realised  this  consummation  of  their  hopes. 
Blessed,  surely,  must  be  the  ripe  fruition  of  pristine  affection  ; 
the  holy,  hallowed  joy,  the  sweet,  unfading  bloom  of  wedded 
love! 

The  distant  voices  of  children  now  breaking  sweetly  on  the 
ear  reminded  me  I  was  nearing  the  village,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  more,  on  emerging  from  the  wood,  the  secluded 
hamlet,  with  the  forester's  cottage  on  the  right,  and  nearest 
to  the  bridge,  appeared  in  all  its  sylvan,  quiet  beauty.  No 
one  was  stirring  about  the  cottage,  and  when  I  entered  the 
little  porch,  contrary  to  my  usual  practice,  I  tremblingly 
knocked  for  admittance.  The  door  was  gently  opened  by 
the  forester  himself,  who  kindly  led  the  way  to  the  sitting- 
room  with  more  reserve  and  greater  quietude  of  manner  than 
his  wont.    Not  anticipating  any  change,  however,  my  sur- 


THE  forester's  DAUGHTER.  89 

prise  and  grief  were  the  greater  when  I  beheld  Eliza  leaning 
on  an  easy-couch,  wrapped  carefully  around  with  the  warm 
covering  of  the  invalid  ! 

When  I  took  her  thin  white  hand  in  mine,  and  hurriedly 
made  some  incoherent  inquiries  in  regard  to  her  health,  I  long 
remembered,  and  do  still  remember,  how  damp  and  chilly- 
cold  was  the  returning  pressure  of  silent  welcome.  Yet  the 
bloom  on  her  cheek  was  so  blushingly  bright,  and  the  lustre 
of  her  eye  so  brilliant  and  unusually  clear,  and  her  voice  so 
strong  in  its  silvery  sweetness,  that  it  was  difficult  for  me  to 
believe  that  she  was  otherwise  than  in  perfect  health.  Alas  ! 
the  very  83rmptoms  which  to  me  appeared  so  indicative  of 
health  and  hope  spoke  to  the  more  experienced  as  only  fore- 
shadowing a  time  of  suffering  and  an  early  grave ! 

"You  did  not  expect  to  see  me  ill  on  your  return,"  Eliza 
softly  said  at  last;  "but  you  have  been  so  long  away — at 
least  I  have  thought  the  time  long — ^that  you  must  expect  to 
see  changes  of  some  kind  or  another,  and  I  daresay  you  have 
found  them  where  you  least  expected  them. " 

"  But  tell  me,  Eliza,"  I  doubtingly  rejoined,  "  if  you  are 
really  ilL  To  my  eye,  you  look  as  healthful  as  when  I  saw 
you  two  long  years  ago." 

"  Do  not  deceive  yourself,"  she  solemnly  replied,  "  if  I  were 
not  ill,  1  would  not  be  lying  here ;"  and  then,  as  if  regretting 
what  she  had  said,  she  continued  in  a  more  cheerful  tone — 
"The  spring  has  again  returned,  the  time  of  the  singing 
of  the  birds  has  come,  I  feel  my  strength  returning,  and 
in  a  short  time  I  trust  to  be  able  to  be  abroad  again  among 
the  scenes  I  love  so  well.  I  have  just  been  reading  in 
the  Kevelation  of  the  new  heavens  and  the  new  earth ;  of  the 
holy  city,  the  new  Jerusalem.  Will  you  read  a  little  to  me 
of  these  heavenly  scenes,  for,  notwithstanding  my  desire  to 
live,  I  begin  to  think  I  am  gradually  becoming  more  akin  to 
heaven  than  earth ) " 

Wondering  at  the  style  and  fervour  of  her  language,  I 
mechanically  took  the  Bible  she  had  presented  to  me,  and 


90  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

read  as  I  had  never  read  before,  of  the  pure  river  of  the 
water  of  life,  clear  as  crystal,  proceeding  out  of  the  throne  of 
God  and  of  the  Lamb  ;  of  the  great  city,  the  holy  Jerusalem 
descending  out  of  heaven  from  (}od ;  of  the  great  multitude 
that  no  man  could  number,  of  all  nations,  and  kindreds,  and 
people,  and  tongues ;  and  of  the  angels  that  stood  round 
about  the  throne,  and  of  the  elders  who  answered,  saying — 
''These  are  they  which  came  out  of  great  tribulation,  and 
have  washed  their  robes  and  made  them  white  in  the  blood  of 
the  Lamb." 

When  I  had  finished,  Eliza  regretfidly  whispered — 

"  I  fain  now  would  rest " — then  extending  her  hand  to  bid 
me  adieu,  she  warmly,  yet  enquiringly  continued — "  You  will 
come  to  see  me  soon  again  V* 

'*  I  will,  Eli2sa,  very  soon,"  I  replied,  and  bade  her  for  the 
time  an  affectionate  adieu. 

Her  sorrowful  mother  and  the  other  members  of  the  family 
had  all  this  time  been  in  the  other  room,  but  as  I  was 
departing  Mrs  Wood  followed  me  to  the  porch,  kindly  asking 
me  to  come  soon  again  to  see  her  daughter.  In  answer  to 
my  inquiries,  she  informed  me  that  Eliza  had  first  complained 
of  illness  in  the  autumn  of  the  previous  year,  and  that  during 
the  succeeding  winter  she  had  been  closely  confined  to  her 
room,  and,  although  she  did  not  complain  of  much  pain,  she 
was  apprehensive  of  a  fatal  issue  to  her  continued  illness. 
My  heart  was  too  full  to  say  much,  but  what  I  did  say 
seemed  hopeful  and  reassuring,  for  the  fond  mother  faintly 
smiled  through  her  blinding  tears,  and  while  expressing  her 
gratitude  for  my  good  wishes,  most  fervently  prayed  they  might 
in  God's  good  time  be  happily  realised. 

During  the  spring  I  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  forester's 
cottage,  and  on  every  occasion,  while  all  others  saw  too 
plainly  that  Eliza  was  slowly  losing  ground,  I  confidently 
imagined  she  was  as  surely  gaining  strengtL  In  one  respect, 
however,  I  could  not  but  mark  a  great  and  decided  change. 
Her  style  of  conversation  had  gradually  become  more  elevated 


THE  forester's  DAUGHTER.  9 1 

and  refined ;  her  language,  in  strength  and  beauty  of  expres- 
sion, warmth  and  fervour  of  devotional  feeling,  partaking 
more  of  heaven  than  of  earth,  and  encompassing  her 
ever,  to  me  at  least,  with  an  ethereal  halo  of  celestial  glory. 

It  was  now  summer,  and  as  I  leisurely  pursued  my  way  to 
the  village  by  the  side  of  the  winding  burn,  listening  grate- 
fully to  its  lapping,  silver  sound,  I  thought  the  burden  of  its 
evening  song  was  health  and  peace  to  the  forester's  daughter. 
Catching  up  the  joyous  theme,  the  jubilant  birds  among  the 
spreading  boughs  in  the  woodland  beyond  ezultingly  blent 
their  melodious  notes  in  a  full  diapason  of  triumphant  song. 
What  a  beauteous,  lovely,  delicious  month  is  "  leafy  June ! '' 
There  is  in  it  such  a  prodigal  effulgence  of  luxuriant  beauty, 
such  life,  and  hope,  and  joy ;  such  gorgeous  broadcast  of  fair 
and  beautiful  colours,  such  luscious  fragrance  of  ambrosial 
gi^eets,  such  hallowed  combinations  of  melodious  sounds ! 
The  umbrageous  oak  and  graceful  ash  have  leafed  themselves 
at  last  in  green ;  the  heather  hath  assumed  its  purple  robe, 
and  the  wild  rose  its  rich  vermillion  blush  of  virgin  beauty ; 
the  briar  and  hawthorn  scent  the  evening  gale,  and  the  finch 
and  linnet  sing  together  on  the  topmost  boughs,  the 
merle  and  thrush  answering  each  other  lovingly  in  the  den. 
Then  there  is  such  ever-changing  variety  of  light  and  shade, 
such  echoing  bursts  of  rural  sounds,  such  joyous  shouts  of 
happy  children  in  the  glens,  such  plaintive  bleatings  from 
motherless  lambs  on  the  hills,  such  cawing  of  rooks  over  their 
new-fledged  young,  such  dreamy  music  sweet  of  distant 
village  bells,  that  the  heart  feels  all  aglow  in  a  wild  transport 
of  voluptuous  joy,  and  the  soul  is  stirred  to  its  inmost  depths 
with  the  deep  emotions  of  holy  rapture,  gushing  forth  in  the 
joyous  strains  of  gratitude  and  love. 

As  I  neared  the  forester's  cottage,  the  "  Defiance  "  coach, 
with  its  splendid  team  of  spotted  greys,  and  driven  by  its 
aristocratic  owner,  Mr  Barclay  of  Ury,  dashed  at  a  rattling 
pace  along  the  bridge  on  its  way  to  Aberdeen,  the  merry 
sounds  of  the  bugle  re-echoing  through  the  woods  in  unison 


92  STRATHMCRE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

with  man's  expanding  heart,  and  Nature's  song  of  universal 
joy. 

As  if  to  complete  the  picture  of  general  happiness 
without,  I  found  Eliza  on  this  summer  evening  looking  very 
much  better,  and  altogether  more  cheerful  and  happy 
til  an  I  had  seen  her  since  my  return.  Eeclining  on  her  couch, 
arrayed  in  spotless  white,  her  countenance  lighted  up  by  the 
reflection  of  some  inward  joy,  and  her  long  bright  tresses 
bedropt  with  spangled  gold  from  the  dazzling  rays  of  the 
setting  sun,  and  gently  stirred  by  the  evening  breeze  which 
came  in  softly  at  the  open  window,  I  thought  that  surely  no 
human  being  could  look  more  saint-like,  more  spiritually  lovely, 
more  divinely  beautiful !  Around  the  little  window  which 
looked  out  to  the  churchyard  and  the  church  the  fragrant 
honeysuckle  entwined  its  beautiful  blossoms,  while  in  at  the 
open  casement  to  the  west  the  roses,  nodding  with  the 
breeze,  peeped  in  like  blushing  maidens  sly,  not  to  be  caught 
yet,  but  coquettely  to  tease  awhile,  so  timid  were  they  and  so 
shy. 

"  You  see  that  wooded  height  in  the  churchyard  above  St 
Fergus'  WelH  "  said  Eliza  softly,  now  breaking  "the  sweet 
silence  of  the  hour.  "  I  should  wish  to  be  buried  there  when 
I  die — nay,  startle  not ;  we  must  all  die,  and  I  feel  my  time 
has  nearly  come.  Often  in  your  long  absences  have  I  wandered 
by  our  favourite  pathways  o'er  the  Hunter  Hill,  but  oftener  I 
lingered  in  the  twilight  eves — I  cannot  tell  how  it  was — ^by 
lone  St  Fergus*  Well,  and  in  the  quiet  secluded  burying- 
ground  above  and  around  that  romantic  spot.  You  will 
come  sometimes  and  visit  my  last  resting-place — ^will  you 
not  ? " 

"Eliza,"  I  replied,  "such  thoughts  would  break  my 
heart " 

"  Listen,"  said  she,  interruptingly,  and  without  noticing  my 
remark.  "  When  I  am  dying — and  I  feel  assured  I  will  die 
in  calmness  and  in  peace — ^I  would  wish  to  enter  heaven  with 
the  songs  of  earth  vibrating  in  my  ear,  thus  sweetly  carrying  me 


THE  forester's  DAUGHTER.  93 

imperceptibly  over  that  undefined,  mysterious  line  which  separ- 
ates eternity  from*  time.  It  is  said  the  dying  carry  on  the  retina 
of  the  eye  to  the  other  world  the  features  and  expression  of 
those  on  whom  they  have  last  gazed  on  earth.  So  would  I 
wish  to  carry  with  me  also  to  the  abodes  of  glory  the 
cherished  voices  of  those  I  love.  But,"  she  excitedly  con- 
tinued, as  if  recollecting  at  the  moment  something  that  had 
escaped  her  memory,  '^  I  have  had  such  a  strange  and  beauti- 
ful dream.  Listen,  and  I  will  tell  it  thee.  Stay  ;  lift^me  up, 
my  mother ;  pile  these  pillows  high ;  my  head  I  fain  would 
raise  once  more  and  look  around  on  each  familiar  thing,  then 
gaze  abroad  to  mark  the  blossoms  of  my  favourite  flowers, 
inhale  the  sweetness  of  the  balmy  air,  and  list  the  cheering 
melody  of  birds ;  I  yet  may  gather  the  blaeberries  on  the  hiU 
and  eat  the  ripe  autumnal  fruit.  Hush  !  soul,  this  cannot  be ; 
these  are  the  expressions  of  my  other  nature  still  unweaned 
from  the  things  of  earth  and  time." 

*'  Your  dream,  Eliza  V  1  inquiringly  said  ;  "  was  it  pleas- 
ing or  otherwise  1 " 

"  My  dream  ? "  she  delightedly  replied.  '*  Oh,  it  was  so 
strange,  so  pleasing,  so  very  beautiful  I  Methought,  swifb 
borne  above  the  abyssmal  air,  I  floated  noiselessly  away  among 
the  palmy  isles,  the  breezes  redolent  of  sweetest  odours  softly 
wafted  o'er  the  undulating  waves  like  honied  breath  of  violets, 
in  rich  festoons,  the  flowering  climbing  plants  profusedly  hang- 
ing from  the  shelving  cliffs  in  never-fading  bloom.  The  cities 
were  of  rubies,  and  the  hills  were  richly  gemmed  with  ame- 
thysts and  sapphires ;  the  amber  streams  all  pebbled  bright 
with  diamonds,  and  agates,  and  all  kinds  of  precious  stones, 
and  the  woods  ablaze  with  gorgeous  foliage,  crowned  bright 
with  fragrant  flowers  of  every  hue  and  form.  The  groves  of 
palm  were  vocal  with  the  flute-like  tones  of  clear-voiced 
arioles,  commingled  sweetly  with  the  bulbul's  plaintive  notes 
at  noon,  sublimed  at  night  by  vesper  hymns  of  humming  birds 
and  sacred  songs  of  paradise  ! 

''Anon  I  wandered  midst  the  dazzling  throngs  which 


94  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

crowd  the  matchless  Place  St  Mark,  in  lovely  Venice,  City  of 
the  Sea  !  'Twas  night ;  the  sun  had  disappeared  in  glory  be- 
hind the  Friulian  mountains,  and  softly  came  from  the  Adriatic 
Sea  the  sweet  refreshing  evening  breeze,  stirring  with  .^Eolean 
music  rich  my  long  dishevelled  curls,  soft  kissing  me  with 
balmy,  honied  lips,  as  if  in  expectancy,  I  silent  stood  on  the 
marble  steps  of  an  ancient  palace,  beside  the  waveless  Grand 
Canal.  Softly  the  moonbeams  now  jewelled  bright  the  clear 
blue  waters,  rich  with  diamond  gems,  all  glistering  tremulous 
innumerable.  The  hearse-like  gondolas  swift  glided  past  to 
strains  of  richest  music,  the  song  of  nearing  gondoliers,  as  on 
they  came  from  distant  Molo,  soft  breaking  on  the  ear  with 
pensive  sweetness,  "swelling  as  they  passed  to  loud,  melodious 
notes,  then  faintly  dying  away  in  tremulously  lessening  echoes 
beneath  the  one-arched  high  Eialto. 

"Among  the  gondolas  one  floating  came  more  beautiful, 
more  stately,  than  the  rest.  Her  timbers  of  burnished 
amber,  her  awnings  white  and  golden  fringed,  her  prow  all 
brightly  gemmed  with  precious  stones,  without  either  sail  or 
oar,  onward  gliding  noiselessly  like  a  swan  majestically  it 
came. 

"As  it  approached,  distinguish  could  I  clearly  those  on 
board — tall,  white-draped  figures,  with  faces  like  the  dawn, 
and  angelic  in  expression,  all  gathered  round  one  statelier 
than  they  on  dais,  raised  high  elevated  in  the  midst ;  a  hum 
of  soft  low  voices  stirring  sweet  the  air,  then  slowly  dying 
away  among  the  golden  clouds,  like  angel-whispers  floating 
tremulous  in  mystic  fields  of  ether. 

"  On,  on  it  came  to  where  I  stood.  The  prow  just  touched 
the  marble  pier,  when,  like  a  bridal  train  without  the  bride, 
its  white-robed  occupants  debarked,  and,  noiseless,  formed  a 
living  avenue  between  me  and  the  ship,  a  form  familiar  walk- 
ing up  the  midst,  her  face  becoming  as  I  gazed  pale,  rigid, 
sharp,  and  ghastly,  changing  in  a  moment  grand  to  pure 
celestial  beauty,  spirit-like,  a  luminous  vapour  rainbowed 
bright  around  her  beaming  features  like  the  blushing  mom 


THE  forester's  DAUGHTER.  95 

rich  purpling  in  the  east,  her  attitude  now  rapt  adoring,  all 
her  stately  frame  inspired  with  spiritual  emotion  deep,  high 
quivering  with  an  ecstasy  of  joy !  Her  hands  clasped 
firm  upon  her  breast,  her  lips  apart,  her  head  in  fond  sweet 
longing  lovingly  upraised,  glad  listening  to  some  coming 
sound ;  a  song  of  soft  celestial  music  bursting  rich  high  over 
head  from  out  the  golden  sky;  bright  cloud-borne  angels 
winging  quick  their  way  amidst  melodious  anthems  to  our 
earth.  As  nearer  they  approached,  beheld  I  one  more 
glorious  than  the  rest  in  triumph  bearing  quick  a  golden 
crown  to  where  the  rapt  expectant  stood,  which  on  her 
radiant  brow  she  midst  hosannahs  placed,  the  long  white 
robes  of  her  surrounding  mates  transformed  to  down,  pure, 
soft,  and  glistering,  which,  outstretched,  became  angelic  wings, 
and  as  they  strung  their  jewelled  lyres  in  harmony 
seraphically  sweet,  all  bright  ascended  in  one  glorious, 
mystic  throng,  majestic  to  the  sky  !  In  the  sainted  one  thus 
crowned  with  glory  and  triumphantly  borne  aloft  on  angels' 
wings  I  recognised — Myself — and  I  awoke  !" 

The  animated  recital  of  her  extraordinary  dream  had  so 
exhausted  Eliza  that  she  fell  back  upon  her  pillow  in  a  state 
of  great  prostration,  amounting  almost  to  unconsciousness. 
When  she  had  somewhat  recovered,  I  commended  her  to  the 
affectionate  care  of  her  mother,  and  on  retiring  felt  more 
depressed  and  sad  than  I  had  ever  done  before.  The  descrip- 
tion of  the  dream,  and  the  prophetic  train  of  thought  to  which 
it  naturally  gave  rise,  formed  the  one  absorbing  subject  of 
contemplation  on  my  way  homeward,  the  solution  to  which  I 
arrived  being,  as  may  be  imagined,  the  one  most  satisfactory 
to  myself — viz.,  that  it  was — a  dream. 

Having  to  repair  for  a  time  to  Edinburgh  immediately 
after  this  visit  to  the  forester's  daughter,  I  did  not  return 
home  until  the  middle  of  October,  fully  three  months  having 
elapsed  in  the  interval. 

Full  of  anxious  thoughts  about  Eliza,  which  grew  more 
intense  and  painful  the  nearer  I  approached  her  father's 


96  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

cottage  on  the  following  day  after  my  return,  when  I  silently 
took  my  accustomed  way  along  the  well-known  winding  path- 
way by  the  base  of  the  Hunter   Hill.     It  was  a  lovely 
autumnal  day,  and  most  unusually  warm  for  the  season  of  the 
year.     The  sun  shone  forth  o'er  hill  and  dale  in  all  the  bright 
effulgence  of  summer,  the  happy  midges  dancing  in  wild,  mad 
reveliy  in  his  sparkling  beams,   and  the  pugnacious  robin 
singing  in  flute-like  notes  from  the  topmost  boughs  the  sweetly 
plaintive  requiem  of  the  fast  decaying  year.     The  ash  and 
the  oak,  still  green  and  beautiful,  contrasted  finely  with  the 
deep  bronze  of  the  beech  and  the  golden  yellow  of  the  elm, 
while  the  stately  mountain  pine  upreared  high  up  above  them 
all  her  dark  and  sombre  diadem  of  everlasting  green.    The 
dull  rustling  noise  of  the  falling  leaves,  otherwise  so  sadden* 
ing  to  the  mind,  and  so  painfully  suggestive  of  the  decay  of 
the  life  of  man,  was  on  this  glad  day  of  sunny  brightness  and 
joy  more  pensively  solemn  than  sad^  more  soothing  and  com- 
forting than  a  gloomy  foreshadowing  of  the  dark  river,  or  an 
ominous  foreboding  ]of  the  unseen  world  beyond.    Far  up  in 
the  golden  sky  the  beautiful  clouds  bright  tinged  with  a  rain- 
bow softness  of  colour  and  richly  finnged  with  a  delicate 
saffron  of  matchless  splendour,  seemed  like  guardian  angels 
reposing  in  the  lap  of  the  Great  Eternal  and  gazing  with 
intense  interest  on  some  attractive  object  on  earth,  as  if 
waiting,  with  their  chariots  of  glory,  to  convey  some  sainted 
loved  one  to  the  far-off  land  of  blessedness  and  peace  ! 

I  had  now  entered  the  deep  ravine  through  which  the 
waters  of  the  bum  rush  with  great  velocity,  until  abruptly 
divided  by  a  little  grass-covered  island,  on  either  side  of 
which  they  dash  down  the  shelving  rocks  like  mimic  waterfalls 
of  pleasing  sweetness  and  picturesque  beauty.  Often,  in  the 
rich  blush  of  summer,  had  I  solitary  stood  on  this  lonely 
island  admiring  the  sharp  outlines  of  the  beautiful  picture 
which  stretched  itself  out  before  me  in  all  its  light  and  shade 
of  romantic,  evei^hanging  loveliness — the  rugged  banks  around 
rich  clothed  with  luxuriant  foliage,  the  wooded  hill  beyond 


TH£  FORESTER'S  DAUGHTER.  97 

all  sweetly  vocal  with  the  songs  of  birds,  the  church  spire 
towering  high  between,  with  the  distant  Grampians,  in  all 
their  grim  and  lofty  grandeur,  forming  a  noble  and  fitting 
background  to  such  an  enchanting  scene. 

Emerging  slowly  from  the  ravine,  I  unexpectedly  met  Dr 
Steele,  of  Forfar,  returning  from  a  professional  visit  to  the 
forester's  daughter.  After  the  usual  greeting,  the  good,  kind 
doctor,  gently  putting  his  arm  in  mine,  turned  with  me  in  the 
direction  of  the  cottage,  inquiringly  saying,  as  he  did  so— 

"  You  are  much  interested  in  the  welfare  of  the  forester's 
daughter  1 " 

"  Very  much  interested  indeed,"  I  frankly  replied.  "  How 
did  you  find  your  patient  to-day,  doctor,  for  I  have  not  seen 
her  myself  for  several  months  1  I  sincerely  hope  she  may  be 
getting  better,  and  that  you  entertain  good  hopes  of  her 
ultimate  recovery." 

"She  is  better  in  one  respect,"  he  quietly  replied,  "for 
she  is  getting  nearer  heaven  eveiy  day  she  survives.  As  to 
her  ultimate  recovery,  I  dare  not  hold  out  any  hope  whatever; 
if  I  did,  I  should  belie,  as  a  professional  man,  my  own  convic- 
tions." 

"  You  surprise  me  much,  doctor,"  I  hurriedly  rejoined.  "  To 
me,  on  the  contrary,  Eliza  appears  to  be  gradually  gaining 
strength.  Her  eye  is  as  bright  and  her  countenance  as 
blooming  as  ever." 

"These  are  just  the  symptoms,  my  young  friend,"  the  doctor 
replied,  "which  to  the  experienced  eye  lead  to  the  very 
opposite  conclusion.  To  be  candid  with  you,  the  trembling 
tenement,  which  still  so  tenaciously  retains  its  feeble  hold 
of  her  up-soaring  spirit,  is  so  worn  and  fragile  in  its  texture, 
that  the  silver  cord  may  be  loosed  and  the  golden  bowl  be 
broken  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  She  will  pass  away  so 
peacefully  that,  if  not  watched  by  night  and  by  day,  her  pure 
and  gentle  soul  may  wing  its  silent  flight  above  before  any  per- 
ceptible change  be  observed  or  anticipated.     Take  this  in  good 

part,  and  you  may  remember  afterwards  my  parting  words." 

o 


98  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

My  trembling  lips  could  not  articulate  a  reply,  and  the 
forester's  cottage  being  now  in  sight,  the  tender-hearted 
doctor  bade  me  an  affectionate  adieu,  and  went  on  his  way  to 
the  glen. 

To  my  great  surprise,  and  as  if  falsifying  the  predictions  of 
the  good  physician,  instead  of  finding  Eliza  on  the  couch  of 
sickness,  she  was  seated  at  the  door  of  the  cottage,  where  she 
received  me  with  her  sweetest  smiles  of  welcome,  gently 
chiding  me  at  the  same  time  for  my  long  absence  from  the 
cottage. 

"Eliza  expected  you  to-day,"  said  her  mother,  who  sat 
beside  her  daughter,  intently  watching  her  every  movement 
with  the  tenderest  soUcitude.  "No  one  had  informed  her 
of  your  arrival,  and  yet  she  heard  your  footsteps,  she  said^in 
the  tangled  brushwood  long  before  you  came  in  sight,  and 
seemed  to  feel  your  presence  beside  her  while  you  were  yet  a 
far  way  off.  '  Array  me,  mother,'  she  joyfully  exclaimed  in 
the  morning,  '  in  my  long  white  robe  and  let  my  tresses  fall 
full  and  carelessly  adown  my  shoulders  in  the  way  he  likes  to 
see  them  best,  and  lead  me  out  among  the  sunshine  and  the 
flowers  as  a  bride  to  meet  the  bridegroom.'" 

"  Mother  should  not  have  told  you  that,"  Eliza  blushingly 
said,  at  the  same  time  beckoning  me  to  be  seated  in  the  empty 
chair  beside  her.  "  The  beautiful  morning  'blent  in  the  more 
beautiful  day,"  she  continued,  "  I  felt  so  cheerful  and  so  happy, 
as  if  inhaling  the  very  atmosphere  of  heaven,  my  exulting  spirit 
bounding  in  gladness  in  fond  anticipation  of  some  coming  joy, 
that  I  longed  to  breathe  again  the  sofb  sweet  air  of  the  hills, 
and  to  listen  to  the  last  long  plaintive  song  of  the  dying  year. 
You  will  read  again  to  me,  will  you  not,  of  the  celestial  city 
and  the  river  of  God,  of  the  new  song  of  the  redeemed,  and 
the  harpings  of  the  angels  on  the  hills  of  heaven?  Ton 
remember  my  last  wish  ? " 

On  presenting  me  with  the  same  Bible  from  which  I  had 
formerly  read,  and  which  I  had  given  her  many  years  before, 
she  fixed  her  clear  blue  eye  with  such  a  spiritual  intensity  of 


THE  FORESTER'S  DAUGHTER.  99 

gaze  on  mine  that  I  felt  as  if  I  were  in  heaven  itself,  or  rather 
that  one  of  its  celestial  inhabitants  had  become  my  companion 
on  earth.     Seeing  me  hesitate,  Eliza  softly  said — 

"  Much  as  I  love  this  fair  and  beautiful  earth  my  spirit 
longs  to  breathe  a  purer  atmosphere  of  bliss,  to  roam  in 
glorious  sunshine  on  the  mountain  tops  of  the  empyrean 
heavens,  and,  grandest  thing  of  aU  grand  things,  to  walk  with 
Christ  in  white  amid  the  Father's  smiles.  Eead : — I  long  yet 
once  again  to  hear  from  loving  lips  the  sweet  notes  of  that 
triumphal  song, '  Alleluia;  the  Lord  God  Omnipotent  reigneth ! 
Let  us  be  glad  and  rejoice,  and  give  honour  to  Him ;  for  the 
marriage  of  the  Lamb  is  come,  and  His  wife  hath  made  her- 
self ready.  And  to  her  was  granted  that  she  should  be  arrayed 
in  fine  Hnen,  clean  and  white :  for  the  fine  linen  is  the 
righteousness  of  saints  !'  " 

Catching  now  her  intensity  of  joy,  I  rapturously  read  of  the 
holy  city,  with  its  gates  of  pearl  inwrought  with  burnished 
gold,  its  dazzling  walls  of  jasper,  amethyst,  and  emerald ;  the 
rainbow  round  about  the  Throne,  the  crowns  and  sceptres,  robes 
of  white  and  palms  of  victory;  the  thousand  times  ten  thousand 
voices  thundering  loud  like  sound  of  many  waters,  and  harpers 
haiping  with  their  harps — the  song,  '' Behold,  the  tabernacle 
of  God  is  with  men,  and  He  will  dwell  with  them,  and  they 
shall  be  His  people,  and  God  Himself  shall  be  with  them  and 
be  their  God.  And  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their 
eyes ;  and  there  shall  be  no  more  death,  neither  sorrow  nor 
crying,  neither  shall  there  be  any  more  pain :  for  the  former 
things  are  passed  away.'' 

Hearing  no  response,  I  looked  up  from  the  book  on  which 
I  was  reading,  but,  alas !  the  brightness  of  Eliza's  eye  was 
quenching  fast  in  darkness ;  the  snow  of  death  was  already 
gathering  on  her  brow,  and  her  pure  and  gentle  spirit  was 
peacefully  passing  away  to  God  who  gave  it !  I  gently  took 
her  cold  and  clammy  hand  in  mine.  The  pressure  was  re- 
turned, and  with  a  faint,  sweet  smile  on  her  ashy  lips,  Eliza 
Wood,  the  forester's  daughter,  entered  into  her  rest ! 


.   CHAPTER  XL 

WILL-0*-THE-WISP. 

**  Wli&t  elm  but  evil  could  betide, 
With  that  cursed  Palmer  for  our  guide  T 
Better  we  had  through  mire  and  bush 
Been  lantem-led  by  Friar  Rush." 

— Marmum, 

Will-o*-the-Wisp,  according  to  Scott,  is  "  a  strolling  demon, 
or  esprit  folkt,  who  once  upon  a  time  got  admittance  into  a 
monastery  as  a  scullion  and  played  the  monks  many  pranlcs." 
He  is  sometimes  called  Jack-o'-Lanthem,  and  as  such  is  familiar 
to  our  southern  neighbours.  The  followers  of  Marmion  attri- 
buted the  mysterious  disasters  that  befell  them  at  Gifford 
Castle  to  the  guidance  of  the  assumed  ecclesiastic — "  the  cursed 
Palmer " —  and  expressed  the  belief  that  it  had  been  better 
for  them  they  had  been  lantem-led  by  Friar  Rush.  MUton 
also  makes  the  same  allusion  through  his  clown — 

'^She  was  pinched  and  pulled,  she  said, 
And  he  by  Friar*8  Lanthom  led." 

This  wandering  demon,  however,  was  universally  known 
throughout  the  "  Howe  "  by  the  more  familiar  name  of  Spunkie, 
whose  freaks  and  pranks  in  that  amusing  and  mischievous 
character  might  form  the  subject-matter  of  a  lengthened  tale 
or  stirring  romance.  Many  a  poor  benighted  wight  hath  this 
uncannie  warlock  driven  to  his  wits' -end  by  his  uncouth 
gambols  and  deceptive  light,  and  many  a  bold  and  valiant 
knight  hath  he  laid  hors  de  combat  on  the  marshy  plain. 

Some  fifty  or  sixty  years  ago,  nearly  one  half  of  the  parish 
of  Kinnettles  was  one  continued  marsh    or  bog,   arising, 


will-o'-the-wisp.  101 

doubtless,  from  the  circumstance  that  the  northern  part  had 
formed,  at  some  remote  period,  the  bed  of  a  large  rirer  or 
lake.  At  that  time,  and  before  the  great  drain  was  opened 
through  the  Howe  from  the  Loch  of  ForfEU*,  peat  mosses  and 
stagnant  marshes  occupied  the  whole  tract  of  level  land  which 
stretches  for  some  miles  between  the  Castle  of  Glamis'and 
the  Loch.  It  was  in  this  low,  marshy  region  that  Spunkie 
reigned  supreme,  and  where  he  held  his  dreaded  midnight 
revels  with  sovereign  and  undisputed  sway. 

On  a  dreaiy  night  in  the  latter  end  of  December,  1822, 
the  inmates  of  the  farm-house  of  Foffarty  were  assembled 
in  the  cozy  kitchen  around  a  blazing  wood  fire,  which  cast 
its  cheerful  light  around  the  no  less  cheerful  room.  A  tidy, 
couthie  kitchen  was  that  of  Foffarty ;  and  a  contented,  happy 
household  withaL  The  lasses  were  spinning  busily,  and  sing- 
ing while  they  span ;  the  young  men  were  seated  by  the  ingle, 
with  the  Dominie  of  Kinnettles  in  their  midst ;  while  the 
gudewife  was  busily  engaged  preparing  the  evening  meal. 
The  old  arm-chair  of  the  gudeman  stood  in  its  accustomed 
place,  however,  unoccupied.  The  worthy  farmer  had  gone  to 
attend  the  Kirriemuir  market,  but  was  expected  home  every 
moment.  Intending  to  take  the  shortest  road  through  the 
marsh  and  peat  moss,  instead  of  going  round  by  the  turnpike, 
he  was  obliged  to  go  a-foot,  and,  consequently,  to  trust  to  his 
own  resources  in  the  case  of  any  emergency. 

The  table  was  spread,  and  all  awaited  his  coming.  The 
clock  stnick  nine — a  long  hour  after  his  usual  time  of 
returning  from  market— and  still  he  did  not  appear.  The 
gudewife,  after  looking  out  to  the  cold,  dark  night  for  the 
sixth  or  seventh  time,  to  descry,  if  she  could,  any  signs  of  his 
coming,  returned  to  the  kitchen  in  a  state  of  increased  anxiety 
and  fear ;  the  spinning  wheels  were  silent,  and  the  general 
buzz  of  the  conversation  was  hushed  into  ominous  whispers  of 
dread  import  and  prophetic  meaning. 

Amidst  the  silence  and  general  consternation  that  prevailed, 
the  door  suddenly  opened,  and  the  farmer  staggered  across  the 


102  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

floor,  and  sunk,  like  a  stricken  deer,  into  the  chair  by  the  fire. 
His  broad-brimmed  hat  was  slouched  over  his  eyes,  his  great- 
coat and  topboots  were  bespattered  with  mire  and  peat,  and, 
altogether,  he  was  in  a  most  woeful  and  sorry  plight. 

''  Fat's  come  owre  ye,  gudeman  1  '*  exclaimed  his  affectionate 
helpmate,  while  trying  to  unbutton  his  greatcoat  at  the  same 
time.  "  Has  Spunkie  or  the  waterkelpies  been  meddlin'  wi' 
ye  this  dark  and  dreary  nicht  f '' 

A  long  drawn  sigh  and  stifled  groan  were  the  only  response 
to  these  well-meant  and  anxious  enquiries. 

'^  Leave  him  to  himself  for  a  few  minutes,"  solemnly  said 
the  Dominie.  ''  If  there  have  been  any  manifestations  of  a 
supernatural  dharacter  vouchsafed  to  him  on  his  journey,  he 
will  the  better  reveal  them  when  his  mind  has  become  calm  and 
unclouded,  and  reason  resumed  her  throne  on  the  judgment- 
seat" 

A  long  deep  silence  ensued.  At  last  the  farmer  slowly 
raised  his  hat,  and  instead  of  the  well-known  ruddy,  cheerful 
face,  a  pale,  sad,  bewildered  countenance  met  their  gaze. 

''Am  I  in  my  ain  hoose  at  last?"  faintly  gasped  the 
half-demented  gudeman. 

"Deed  are  ye,  Robert,"  rejoined  his  wife.  "Dinna  look 
sae  bewildered-like.  Do  you  no  ken  your  ain  hoose,  gudeman  ? 
There's  a'  your  ain'  laddies  and  lassies  aroond  you ;  and  here's 
Maister  Eobertson,  frae  KinnetUes,  come  tae  welcome  ye 
hame,  and  there's  the  supper  ready  waitin'  you  on  the  table, 
Robert." 

"  Give  him  a  dram  out  of  your  own  bottle,  goodwife,"  said 
the  Dominie ;  '^  the  smell  and  taste  of  the  aquavitae  will  soon 
bring  him  round,  111  warrant  ye." 

The  dram  had  the  desired  effect.  The  rosy  colour  returned 
to  his  cheeks,  and  the  kindly  twinkle  to  his  eye;  and 
collecting  his  scattered  thoughts  for  a  few  minutes,  he  quietly 
said — 

''  I  am  glad  I'm  in  my  ain  hoose  again,  after  the  trials  and 
troubles  o'  this  awfu'  nicht    Sic  a  time  o'  warslin*  an'fechtin 


WILL-O'-THB-WISP.  103 

an'  fa'in'  I  hae'  haen  sin'  I  left  Kirry !  Ye  may  be  glad  an' 
thankfu',  gudewife,  that  the  Lord,  in  His  great  mercy,  has 
spared  me  to  meet  you  and  the  weans  again,  for  mony  a  time 
this  nicht  o'  nichts  I  had  gien  up  a'  houps  o'  ever  seein'  you 
in  the  flesh  again." 

"  Losh  me,  gudeman,"  rejoined  his  wife,  "  ye  set  my  blude 
a'  creepin',  and  my  puir  heart  gaes  pitty-patty  in  sic  a  manner 
as  I  never  kent  afore.  Noo,  Sobert,"  she  coaxingly  continued, 
at  the  same  time  easing  him  of  his  greatcoat,  '^  tell's  far  ye've 
been,  and  if  thae  mischievous  spunkies  hae  dune  ony  evil  tae 
you  on  your  way  hame  1 " 

"Spunkies  and  fiddlesticks,''  interrupted  the  Dominie. 
''  It's  all  imagination-r-a  mere  chimera." 

"  Fat  dis  the  body  say  ? "  hastily  interposed  the  farmer  in  his 
turn,  and  who  was  now  '^  himself  again."  "  I'll  tell  you  what 
it  is,  Maister  Dominie — ^ye  ken  naething  aboot  it  ava.  Wi' 
a'  your  buke  leamin' — an'  ye're  a  gey  learned  body,  I  maun 
admit — ye  canna  explain  tiie  antics  and  mischievous  doings 
o'  thae  spunkies  an'  fairlies  an'  witchies  an'  waterkelpies.  I 
wish  ye  had  only  been  wi'  me  this  winter  nicht,  an'  ye  wad 
hae  seen  wi'  yer  ain  een  if  it  was  a  mere  keemera  or  no.  But, 
gudewife,  lat's  hae  our  supper.  Na,  na,  nane  o'  yer  slops  for 
me  the  nicht.  Tak*  awa'  thae  tea  dishes,  and  fry  some  nice 
bacon  and  eggs ;  and,  lassies,  assist  yer  mither,  and  bring 
forrit  the  bannocks,  and  the  flour  scones,  and  the  sweetest 
butter  ye  hae  in  the  dairy,  for  I  canna  begin  to  argue  thae 
matters  wi'  Maister  Bobertson  on  an  empty  stamach." 

''Well  thought  of,  and  well  said,"  quietly  remarked  the 
worthy  Dominie  to  the  obedient  gudewife.  ''It  is  a  laudible 
and  wise  precaution  to  line  well  the  inner  man  with  substan- 
tial realities  before  commencing  a  learned  discussion  on 
visionary  topics  of  imaginative  theories  which  evade  the 
grasp  of  solid  judgment  and  common  sense,  even  as  the 
gossamer  mists  on  the  hills  evaporate  and  collapse  when  the 
golden  beams  of  the  god  of  day  break  forth  in  all  their 
splendour  to  diffuse  light,  purity,  and  joy  over  the  fair  face 


104  STRATHMOBB  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

of  Nature,  and  the  remoter  recesses  of  the  sympathetic  heart 
of  man." 

Whether  the  plain,  honest  gudewife  sufficiently  caught  in 
her  perplexity  the  full  meaning  of  this  grandiloquent  speech,  I 
am  not  quite  certain.  All  I  know  is,  that  she  looked  as  if  she 
understood  every  word  of  it,  which  comes,  I  daresay,  pretty 
much  to  the  same  thing. 

The  table  was  profusely  spread,  in  a  wonderfully  short 
space  of  time,  with  all  the  substantial  viands  so  heartily 
commanded  by  our  warm-hearted  host;  and,  after  grace 
had  been  solemnly  said  by  the  Dominie,  the  serious  work 
of  mastication  and  demolition  commenced  in  right  earnest, 
during  which  process,  except  the  clatter  of  knives  and 
forks,  no  other  sound  was  heard  but  a  faint  monosyllable 
now  and  then,  pronounced  as  if  ashamed  of  itself  for 
causing  any  interruption  to  such  a  thoroughly  enjoyable  feast. 

"  Bring  the  bottle,  gudewife,**  at  last  said  mine  host,  wiping 
off  at  the  same  time  with  his  spotted  handkerchief  the  big 
drops  of  perspiration  that  stood  conspicuous  on  his  brow; 
"we'll  be  a'  the  better  o'  a  dram  aifter  the  bacon  and  the 
eggs  ;  but,  Martha,  yeVe  forgotten  the  cheese,  lassie.  Bring 
the  kebbit  oot  o'  the  pantry — ^the  mooldy  ane,  made  frae 
sweet  milk,  I  mean — and  Kitty,  put  on  the  kettle  on  the  sway^ 
and  bring  the  auld  punch-bowl  that's  claspit  a'  owre  wi'  silver 
to  keep  it  thaegither  for  the  use  o'  future  generations,  for  I 
intend  to  fill  it  ance  the  nicht,  at  ony  rate.  Ye  ken,  gudewife, 
if  s  no  ilka  nicht  we  hae  Maister  Robertson  o'  Kinnettles  under 
the  auld  roof  o'  Faffarty." 

While  the  necessary  preparations  for  the  bowl  of  punch  are 
proceeding,  we  may  take  a  passing  glance  at  the  physique  of 
the  two  principal  characters  in  the  little  domestic  scene  we  are 
now  describing. 

To  begin  with  mine  host.  The  tenant  of  Foffarty  was  a 
hale,  hearty  yeoman  of  sixty;  strong  and  well  formed,  of 
middle  size ;  of  a  ruddy  cheerful  countenance,  and  a  warm 
and  generous  nature  withaL  Superstitious  he  was  to  an 
intenfe  degree,  and  as  fully  believed  in  the  veritable  existence 


WILL-O'-THEWISP.  106 

of  Will-o'-the-wisps,  waterkelpies,  brownies,  and  fairies,  as  he 
did  of  the  being  of  his  own  bojs  and  girls,  or  of  the  sheep  and 
cattle  which  browsed  on  the  hill-sides  of  his  farm.  He 
was  careful,  if  not  proud,  of  his  personal  appearance, 
wearing  always  at  kirk  and  market  a  full  dress  suit  of  dark 
brown;  knee-breeches  corded,  but  somewhat  of  a  lighter 
colour ;  with  bright  polished  top-boots,  of  the  true  hunting  size 
and  type. 

The  Dominie,  again,  seemed  to  be  considerably  younger, 
and  of  a  form  and  type  entirely  different  from  that  of  the 
worthy  farmer.  Although  rather  below  the  middle  size,  his 
carriage  and  bearing  were  so  erect  and  dignified  that  his  small 
stature  was  not  so  observable  as  it  otherwise  would  have  been. 
His  countenance  was  pale  and  colourless,  as  became  the 
scholar  and  philosopher ;  and  his  brow  capacious  and  high, 
betokening  the  possession  of  faculties  of  no  conmion  order ; 
while  his  small,  grey,  twinkling  eye  glistened  brightly  with 
kindly  feeling  and  benevolent  affection.  Like  the  silver  lin- 
ing to  the  ebon  cloud,  his  dark  raven  hair  was  being  whitened 
thickly  o'er  with  grey,  deepening  the  expressive  contour  of  his 
thoughtful  yet  congenial  face.  He  had  a  warm  and  couthy  way 
of  speaking  to  his  old  pupils,  but  in  general  his  manner  was 
somewhat  formal  and  pedantic,  and  his  speech  slow,  measured, 
and  pompous  withal. 

"  Now  for  our  bowl  of  punch,  Maister  Robertson,"  kindly 
said  mine  host.  "  I'll  just  mix  it  the  auld  way — naething 
but  the  pure  Glenlivet,  the  lump  sugar,  an'  the  boilin'  water. 
I  dinna  like  your  new-fangled  mixtures  ava,  ava.  I  really 
think,  Maister  Daniel — do  ye  mind,  by  the  by,  what  a 
skirmish  ye  kicket  up  at  the  examination  o'  your  schule,  in 
presence  o*  a'  the  Presbytery  and  the  big  folks,  when  I  ca'ad 
ye  Maister  Donald — eh !  eh !  eh !"  and  the  jolly  fanner 
laughed,  and  laughed  until  the  tears  stood  in  his  twinkling, 
mirth-provoking  eyes ;  his  self-created  merriment  causing  him 
completely  to  forget  the  termination  of  his  sentence,  whatever 
that  might  have  been. 


106  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

"A  few  thin  slices  of  lemon,"  observed  the  Dominie, 
entirely  ignoring  the  latter  remark  of  our  host,  <'I  am  of 
opinion,  very  much  improves  the  punch,  at  least  to  my  taste. 
Besides,  the  rancid  acidity  of  the  fruit  serves  in  a  great 
measure  to  counteract  the  evil  consequences  of  the  inflanmiablo 
alcohol" 

"  But  it  destroys  the  flavour,  man,"  impetuously  rejoined 
the  farmer.  ''I  widna  gie  the  gran'  smell  o'  ihe  peat 
reek  for  a'  your  furrin  scents ;  and  as  for  taste,  commend  me, 
Maister  Bobertson,  to  the  pure,  unadulterated,  sma'  still 
mountain  dew." 

"But  you  are  forgettin',  Robert,  to  tell  us  the  story  o' 
your  mishaps  on  your  way  frae  Barry,'*  gently  interrupted 
his  better  half,  who  had  now  cozily  seated  herself  beside  him. 
"  We're  a'  waitin'  to  hear  fu'  ye  got  through  a'  thae  clamjam- 
fries  i'  the  moss,  an'  fa'  it  was  that  bedraggled  a'  your  claes  i' 
that  awfu'  fashion,  gudeman." 

"  Very  pertinent  remark,"  chimed  in  the  Dominie ;  "we  are 
all  impatience  to  hear  the  particulars  of  this,  to  you,  eventful 
night,  Mr  Guthrie." 

The  very  natural  reminder  by  his  wife  of  the  indirect 
promise  he  had  given  to  recount  the  circumstances  of  his 
somewhat  erratic  and  mysterious  journey  that  night  from 
Kirry  produced  at  once  a  strange  effect  on  mine  host.  All 
his  glee  and  hilarity  had,  in  an  instant,  vanished,  and  his 
hitherto  cheerful  countenance  assumed  a  sad  thoughtful 
expression.  Throwing  back  his  coat  on  his  shoulders,  plant- 
ing firmly  his  two  thumbs  in  his  waistcoat  pockets,  and 
thrusting  out  his  legs  with  great  force  towards  the  blazing 
fire,  he  looked  with  a  furtive,  enquiring  glance  around  the 
room,  taking,  apparently,  particular  notice  that  the  door  was 
properly  shut,  and  that  there  was  none  in  the  house  except 
those  on  whom  he  could  with  all  confidence  thoroughly  rely. 
He  gave  at  last  some  ominous  "hems,"  followed  in  quick 
succession  by  several  rather  suspicious  coughs,  which  certainly 
did  not  strengthen  the  belief  of  his  hearers  in  the  truth  of  the 


WILL-O'-THE-WISP.  107 

revelations  he  had  indirectly  promised  to  make,  and  which  he 
was  now  about  to  give. 

Evidently  he  had  failed  to  bring  his  courage  "to  the 
sticking  place ; "  and  so,  after  desperately  snuffing  the  only 
candle  on  the  table,  and  taking  off  another  glass  of  punch,  he 
fixed  his  eyes  for  a  few  moments  on  the  smoke-begrimed 
wooden  rafters  above,  as  if  invoking  the  aid  of  his  good  angel 
to  come  to  the  rescue. 

Then,  as  if  nothing  unusual  had  occurred,  he  filled  himself 
another  glass  from  the  punch-bowl,  politely  handing  one,  at  the 
same  time,  to  the  wondering  dominie,  and  thus  began  the 
long-expected  narration : — 

"  Aifter  finishin'  a'  my  business  i'  the  market,  Benshie,  and 
Glassell,  and  Bedford,  and  Dragonha',  and  mysel'  adjourned 
to  the  inn  aff  the  cross  to  get  a  snack  and  some  refreshment 
afore  takin'  the  road  hame.  Aifter  we  had  had  our  dinner, 
we  had  a  glass  or  twa  to  keep  oot  the  cauld — ^there  micht  hae 
been  ane,  maybee  twa  mair,  but  that's  neither  here  nor  there, 
for  Benshie  and  Glassell  had  selt  a'  their  knout,  an',  bein' 
michty  big  ower  their  pouchfu's  o'  siller,  they  were  uncommon 
leebeial  wi'  their  drink,  payin'  a'  the  lawin'  atween  their  twa 
selves.  By  this  time  is  was  gettin'  gey  dark,  and — ^no  onywise 
oot  o'  fear,  ye  ken — I  began  to  think  o'  the  lang  road  I  had 
to  gae  hame,  an'  o'  the  dangerous  spunkies  and  waterkelpies 
that  micht  beset  my  path  fan  threadin'  my  way  through  the 
peat  mosses  and  swampy  marshes  that  lay  atween  me  an' 
Faffarty.  Whether  my  freends  read  my  thochts  or  no,  I 
couldna  be  quite  certain ;  but,  at  a'  events,  they  a'  wi'  ane 
accord,  began  to  ragg  and  banter  me  aboot  the  spunkies  i'  the 
moss,  and  insinuated,  rather  undeservedly,  as  I  thocht,  that  I 
was  nae  match  for  thae  warlocks,  bein'  somewhat  deficient  in 
the  bravery  necessar'  for  a  successfu'  encounter  wi'  theuL  So, 
by  way  o'  keepin'  up  my  coorage,  as  far  as  that  was  possible, 
I  ordered  in  some  mair  Glenlivet,  to  drink  *  Deuchan  doris ' 
afore  we  took  our  several  ways  hame.  This  bein'  dune,  we 
each  rose,  as  sober  an'  weel-conduckit  as  ony  o'  his  Majesty^s 
judges  o'  the  land. 


108  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

"  Havin'  parted  wi'  Glassell  on  the  High  Street,  as  his  road 
hame  lay  to  the  eastert,  I  and  my  three  other  freends 
proceeded  steadily  doon  the  Farfar  Boad.  It  was  pitch  dark ; 
bat,  comin'  oot  a'  of  a  sudden  frae  the  inn  wi'  its  blazin'  lichts, 
it  wasna  muckle  winder  although  we  staichered  sometimes 
frae  side  to  side,  and  didna  just  keep  the  proper  equil— equil 
— ^ye  ken  weel  eneuch  what  I  mean,  Maister  Daniel " 

"  Equilibrium,"  solemnly  rejoined  the  Dominie. 

"That's  it,"  continued  mine  host.  "  We're  never  at  a  loss 
for  a  lang-nebbit  wird  when  you're  beside  us,  Maister 
Robertson.  Weel,  as  I  was  sayin',  we  trudged  alang  the  road 
as  weel  as  could  reasonably  be  expeckit,  and  that's  just  as 
near  the  real  truth  as,  'tween  oorsel's,  I  could  venture  to  gae. 
Benshie  now  bade  us  gude-nicht,  an'  as  he  did  so,  he  wickedly 
cried  owre  his  shouther — *  Tak  care,  Faffarty ;  mind  the  warlocks 
and  the  spunkies.  If  ye  shou'd  fraegather  wi'  them,  and  get 
the  warst  o't,  ye'U  gie  us  a'  the  particulars  when  we  neist  meet 
again  at  Kirry.  Ha !  ha ! '  And  then,  as  if  his  conscience 
had  suddenly  smitten  him,  he  exclaimed  in  a  few  minutes 
afterwards — '  I  wish  ye  safe  hame  for  a'  that,  Faffarty,'  and 
disappeared  behind  the  fir  plantin'  to  the  east 

"We  had  now  reached  the  junction  of  the  roads,"  con- 
tinued the  farmer,  "and  after  shakin*  hands,  and  biddin' 
each  other  gude-nicht,  Bedford  took  hb  way  up  to  his  farm- 
toun,  which  stands,  as  you  ken,  only  a  hundred  yards  t.o  the 
north ;  and  Dragonha',  keepin'  on  the  Farfar  road,  would  be  in 
his  hoose  also  in  a  few  minutes  afterwards. 

"  My  road  hame  struck  aff  to  the  south,  immediately  op- 
posite Bedford,  and  a  rough,  lanely,  uncannie  road  it  is,  as  I 
found  to  my  cost.  Havin'  naebody  beside  me  noo  to  speak 
to  and  converse  wi',  I  for  the  first  time  that  nicht  began  tae 
feel  a  wee  queerish — a  little  eerie-ways — and  my  speerits  fell 
sae  low,  and  my  heart  beat  sae  quickly,  that  I  felt  somewhat 
like  Tom  o'  Shanter  in  similar  circumstances : — 

"  '  Whiles  holding  fast  lus  gold  blue  bonnet, 
Whiles  crooning  o'er  some  auld  Soot's  sonnet ; 


WILIrO'-THB-WISP.  109 

Whiles  glow^ing  round  wi*  prudent  cares, 
Lest  bogles  catch  him  unawares. " 

''Distressed  beyond  measure,  I  lookit  for  relief  tae  the 
caimie  aboon  me ;  an'  0,  how  beaatifu'  the  sicht !  Thae  use- 
less creatures  they  ca'  poets  say  the  bonnie  momin'  glisterin' 
dew  is  composed  o'  angels'  tears ;  but  as  I  gazed  an'  gazed  on 

"  The  spangled  firmament  on  high, 
With  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky, " 

the  thocht  cam'  unbidden  into  my  reelin'  head—"  What  if 
a'  thae  stars  were  angels'  een  lookin'  doon  upon  me  in  my 
loneliness  an' kindly  biddin'  me  'God  speed'  on  my  weary 
way?  Wisna  that  a  gran'  thocht  to  come  into  my  head, 
Midster  Kobertson — ^wisna  it  no  1" 

"A  grand  thought  indeed,"  impatiently  observed  the 
Dominie,  in  reply ;  "  but  you  are  long  in  coming  to  the  point. 
We  are  not  in  the  mood  at  the  present  moment  either  to  enter 
into  dry  metaphysical  disquisitions,  or  to  listen  to  poetic 
raptures  or  fanciful  comparisons  on  Nature's  phenomena^  but 
to  hear  your  plain,  unvarnished  narrative  of  what  befell  you 
this  night  on  your  way  from  market. " 

"To  state  it  shorter,"  said  his  equally  impatient  wife, 
taking  hold  of  his  arm  at  the  same  time ;  ''  we're  a'  wearyin' 
to  hear  the  partic'lars  o'  the  awfu'  fecht  ye  said  ye  had  wi'  the 
Spunkie  i'  the  moss. " 

"You're  just  as  bad's  the  Dominie,  gudewife,"  testily  re- 
joined mine  host,  thrusting  away  her  hand,  and  replenishing 
his  glass  from  the  now  nearly  emptied  punch-bowl ;  "  how,  in 
the  nature  o'  things,  can  I  tell  you  aboot  the  fecht  i'  the 
moss,  fin  I  haVna  got  that  length  yet  1  I'm  no  oot  o'  the 
road  wi'  the  leafless  trees  an'  the  dark  hedges ;  an'  was  just 
takin'  a  glint  o'  the  caimie  to  while  awa'  the  lonesomeness  of 
the  journey  afore  I  cam'  to  the  peat  moss  whaur  the  protracted 
yet  bluidless  engagement,  alas !  took  place.  But  I'm  comin'  on 
tae  it  noo,"  taking  off  his  glass,  and  turning  up  his  little 
finger  in  a  scornful,  triumphant  manner,  "an'  will  bravely 


110  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

fecht  ^  my  battles  ower  again, '  in  defiance  o'  a'  your  priggish 
taunts  and  silly  interruptions." 

^'I  got  tae  the  end  o'  that  lang,  dreary  road  at  last/' 
resumed  mine  host,  "  an'  havin'  passed  Lochty,  at  the  foot  o' 
the  brae,  I  at  once  entered  on  the  marshy  moss.     Not  a 
hundred  yards  had  I  gane  when  I  was  surrounded  by  a  count- 
less troop  o'  haggard  demons,  dancin'  an'  grinnin'  awa,  wi'  the 
maist  hellish-lookin'  grimaces  an'  threatenin'  gestures  I  had 
ever  seen.     When  I  moved,  they  followed  me ;  but  observin' 
they  leapt  aside  as  I  approached,  I  held  on  my  way  imtil  I 
reached  a  grass-covered  mound  aboot  the  middle  o'  the  moss. 
"  Frae  this  spot  I  took  a  survey  o'  the  strange  scene  afore 
an'  around  me.     Near  at  hand,  an'  as  far  as  my  een  could 
reach,  the  hale  moss  was  thickly  covered  ower  wi'  warlocks 
an'   hobgoblins,  grinnin',  caperin',  an'   makin'  the   awfulest 
antics  that  ever  was  seen  by  mortal  man.     There  were  blue 
deevils  an'  red  deevils  an'  white  deevils  an'  green  deevils; 
some  wi'  lang  shanks  and  some  wi'  short  shanks ;  some  wi' 
straicht  an'  lythsome  bodies,  an'  some  wi'  shapeless,  distorted 
bodies ;  mony  wi'  countenances  lang  and  lantern-like,  een  like 
furnaces,  and  noses  as  sharp  as  scythes  new  frae  the  grind- 
stane ;  and  mair  wi'  faces  without  flesh,  een  as  hollow  as  a 
scoupit  neep,  and  noses  as  big  an'  crookit  as  a  Heeiand  ram's 
horns  when  three  years  auld ;  while  the  feck  o'  them  were 
just  a  mere  rackle  o'  banes,  which  shook  an'  rattled  i'  the 
winter  wind  like  as  mony  craw-mills  aifter  the  fair.     Faith, 
sirs,  it  was  an  awfu'  sicht !    An'  when  they  ogled  an*  skippit 
an'  cleekit  like  sae  mony  thoosand  evil  speerits  lat  loose  frae 
the  brimstone  regions  o'  the  bottomless  pit,  what  could  I 
think  but  that  the  Prince  o'  Darkness  had  in  reality  sur- 
rounded me  wi'  a'  his  legions  o'  deevils,  wi'  the  underhand 
intention  of  sweepin'  me  aff  wi'  the  beesom  o'  destruction  to 
the  abodes  o'  the  damned,  whaur  naething  is  for  ever  heard 
but '  weepin'  and  wailin'  an'  gnashin'  o'  teeth. '    But,  becomin' 
bolder  as  my  trials  increased,  an'  recoUectin'  for  a  moment 
that  other  passage  o'  Scripture  which  says,  that  in  that  awfu' 


will-o'-the-wisp.  1 1 1 

place  'the  worm  dieth  not,  an'  the  fire  is  not  quenched/  I 
resolved  that  I  would  endeavour  to  checkmate  auld  'Cloutie' 
if  I  could,  or  perish  in  the  attempt.  So,  takin'  firm  hold  o' 
my  gude,  sturdy  ash  stick,  an'  fiourishin'  it  high  in  the  air  to 
show  them  I  was  not  to  be  tampered  with,  I  strode  courage- 
ously doon  the  hillock,  charging  as  I  went  in  grand^style,  but 
yeamin'  to  get  a  hit  at  what  appeared  to  be  the  leader  o'  the 
band,  I  struck  out  wi'  a'  my  micht,  and  was  in  the  very  act 
o'  annihilating  him,  when,  as  bad  luck  would  have  it,  my 
foot  struck  against  some  peats,  and  whack  doon  I  tumbled 
into  a  mossy  hole,  wi'  a'  the  deevils  an'  their  leader  on  my 
back. 

Fa's  that  lauchin'  there?"  thundered  mine  host,  while 
looking  savagely  round  to  the  farther  comer  of  the  kitchen, 
where  the  lads  and  lasses  had  snugly  ensconsed  themselves  to 
hear  the  awful  news. 

"We  wisna  misdootin'  your  word,  maister,"  at  last  replied 
one  of  the  group,  **  we  were  only  wonderin'  fat  the  weight  o' 
the  deevils  had  been  that  you  were  able  to  bear  them  a'  on 
your  back." 

The  lasses  tittered,  the  Dominie  grinned,  the  gudewife 
laughed,  and  the  forgiving  host,  after  several  ineffectual 
attempts,  to  keep  his  gravity,  at  last  joined  in  the  general 
laughter  himself,  to  the  no  small  amusement  of  his  wondering 
household. 

"Go  on  with  your  narrative,"  said  the  Dominie,  when  the 
laughter  had  somewhat  subsided ;  "  you  must  surely  be  near 
the  grand  finale  now." 

"  Finale,  or  no  finale,"  continued  mine  host,  "  I  only  wish  I 
were  safely  through  the  bog,  that  I  micht  hae  time,  to  mak' 
up  anither  bowl  o'  punch,  for  fechtin'  wi'  the  spunkies  is  gey 
dry  wark.  Weel,  notwithstanding  a'  their  efforts  to  keep  me 
doon,  I  got  the  better  at  last  o'  the  mischievous  imps,  and, 
managin'  to  get  out  o'  the  miry  puddle  into  which  I  had 
fallen,  I  warstled  through  the  hale  pack  o'  them'  brandishin' 
my  heavy  stick  i'  their  faces ;  and  whether  they  were  feart 


112      STRATHMORE  :  US  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

or  no,  it  lookit  gej  like  it,  for  thej  retreated  as  quickly  as  did 
the  French  afore  Wellington  at  Waterloo ! 

''Thinkin'  I  had  dune  weel,  I  paused  a  little  to  tak*  breath ; 
but  I  had  no  sooner  stopped  than  a'  the  l^ons  o'  the  bottom- 
less pit  were  aroond  me  again,  mair  numerous  and  mair 
threatenin'  than  ever.  Wishin'  to  see  whether  they  wid  really 
meddle  wi'  me  or  no,  I  remained  for  a  few  minutes  quite 
motionless,  during  which  time  they  danced,  an'  capered,  an' 
cleekit,  an'  grinned ;  noo  peerin'  wi'  their  fiery  een  into  my 
very  face,  an'  then  retreatin'  like  lichtnin'  tae  the  ither  end  o' 
the  moss ;  their  places,  meanwhile,  supplied  by  ither  imps  as 
wild  an'  uncannie  as  themselves,  wha  sprang,  as  it  were,  out 
o'  the  very  earth,  like  sae  mony  emissaries  o'  the  Evil  One, 
bent  on  errands  o'  wrath  an'  destruction  an'  death ! 

''  I  could  stand  it  nae  langer,  an'  determined  to  fecht  my 
way  hame,  although,  like  Samson,  I  should  slay  my  thoosands 
an'  tens  o'  thoosands,  I  strode  manfully  forward,  strikin'  richt 
an'  left  wi'  a'  my  vengeance ;  and,  though  tumblin'  noo  an'  then 
among  the  peat-holes,  I  was  nae  sooner  doon  than  I  was  up 
again,  wrastlin'  an'  fechtin'  on,  till  I  reached  the  road  to 
Glands  at  last ;  an'  the  warlocks,  keepin*  strictly  to  the  moss, 
didna  farther  molest  me,  though  I  saw  them  fine,  caperin'  an' 
dancin'  awa'  i'  the  distance,  until  the  hedges  o'  Brigton  con- 
cealed them  &x)m  my  sicht  1" 

"Losh  me,  gudeman,"  said  his  wife,  "but  did  you  really 
Jwhi  wi'  the  warlocks  1" 

"  Fecht  wi'  the  warlocks  1"  exclaimed  mine  host,  rising  at  the 
same  time,  and  seizing  with  a  firm  grasp  his  faithful  ash  stick 
which  stood  by  the  fire — "  Fecht  wi'  the  warlocks !  I  would 
like  to  see  the  imp,  be  it  warlock,  or  hobgoblin,  or  will-o'-the- 
wisp,  that  I  widna,  wi'  the  aid  o'  this  stick,  fecht  wi'  an'  over- 
come !  Notwithstandin'  the  great  odds  against  me  this  nicht, 
I  struck  at  them  wi'  my  sturdy  ash  in  this  way  " — suiting  the 
action  to  the  word — "  sae  effectually,  an'  wi'  sic  uncommon 
power  an'  vengeance,  that  this  goblin's  head  was  severed  fiae 
his  body,  and  that  Jack-o'-the-lanthom's  body  frae  his  legs,  in 


WILLrO*-THE-WISP.  113 

less  time  than  it  tak's  tae  tell  ye.    Fat  are  ye  gickerin'  at, 
lassies  1  '* 

The  fact  is,  the  expression  of  mine  host  was  so  fierce,  and 
his  actions  so  animated  and  comical,  that  the  whole  assemb- 
lage burst  out  into  a  loud,  uncontrollable  fit  of  laughter,  during 
which  he  walked  to  the  still  blazing  ingle,  laid  down  his  staff  in 
its  accustomed  place,  seated  himself  in  his  arm-chair,  and, 
covering  his  face  with  his  handkerchief,  laughed  as  long  and 
heartily  as  any  of  them. 

"  Esther !"  at  last  cried  our  host,  uncovering  his  face  once 
more,  "  Esther,  put  on  the  kettle  again,  my  l&ssie ;  we  maun 
hae  an  eik  afore  Maister  Bobertson  tak's  the  road  to  Kinnettles ; 
it  8  no  every  nicht  he  honours  us  wi'  his  company. "  Then, 
lowering  his  voice  to  a  whisper,  and  looking  straight  in  the 
Dominie's  face,  he  inquiringly  said,  '^  You  seem  to  doubt  the 
narration  o'  this  nicht's  adventures'?'' 

"A  mere  phenomenon  of  nature,"  loudly  and  scornfully 
replied  the  Dominie. 

"  Phenominum  o'  natur*  or  no,  Maister  Robertson,"  rejoined 
mine  host,  in  a  still  louder  voice,  "  tak'  care  as  ye  gae  hame 
to  Kinnettles  the  nicht  that  nae  'keemeera'  or  'phenominum,' 
as  ye  ca'  them,  disna  turn  up  your  heels  in  a  way  ye  wot  not 
of." 

Then,  turning  with  a  couthy  look  to  his  wife,  to  whom 
he  was  much  attached,  and  by  way  of  changing  the 
current  of  the  conversation,  he  saxig  with  great  feeling  and 
tenderness : — 

My  bounie  wee  wifie,  in  life's  early  mom, 
When  sweet  as  the  linnet  that  sings  on  the  thorn. 
You  sang,  and  I  Ustened,  till  that  song  of  thine 
Tuned  all  my  young  heart-strings  to  music  divine. 

And  aye  it  grew  sweeter,  like  song  of  the  thruah. 
Which,  meUow,  melodious,  makes  Tocal  each  bush, 
All  nature  rejoicing  in  blossoms  so  rare, 
You  each  day  becoming  more  charmingly  fair. 

Till  in  my  nights'  dreaming,  like  lark  poised  on  high, 
You  Eang,  while  ascending  far  up  in  the  sky ; 

H 


114  STRATHMORB  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Alas  !  in  proportion  the  farther  yon  flew. 

My  heart  the  more  lonely,  more  desolate  gre|r. 

So,  from  a  heart  broken,  the  voice  of  true  love 
Came  rushing,  swift  gushing,  '  Be  thou  a  sweet  dove. 
And  dwell  in  my  bosom,  there  nestle  through  life. 
Thee  ever  111  cherish,  my  bonnie  wee  wife.' 

My  bonnie  wee  wifie,  long,  long  thou  hast  lain 
Next  my  heart,  the  bright  sunshine,  in  sorrow  and  pain  ; 
Still  dwell  in  my  bosom,  there  nestle  through  life, 
Aye  the  more  will  I  love  thee,  my  bonnie  wee  wife. 

"  Noo,  Maister  Eobertson,"  continued  mine  host,  "  we'll 
hae  an  eik  to  drink  the  stirrup  cup,  and  a  safe  landin*  tae  you 
at  Kinnettles  ;"  and  while  handing  him  his  glass  of  punch,  and 
another  to  the  gudewife,  he  wickedly  observed,  "  I  hope  Jihe 
waterkelpies  are  no  abroad  the  nicht,  Mr  Daniel." 

"Mere  myths,"  courageously  rejoined  the  Dominie. 

"Weel,  weel,"  replied  mine  host,  "we'll  see  what  we'll  see ; 
that's  all  I'll  say  for  the  present ;  tak*  aflF  yer  glass." 

"Bring  the  lantern,  Peter,"  said  the  gudewife;  "an'  ye 
maun  licht  Maister  Robertson  hame,  for  it's  a  dark  eerie 
nicht" 

"  I'm  to  gie  Maister  Robertson  a  convoy  hame  the  nicht 
mysel',"  said  mine  host,  rising  at  the  same  time  and  putting 
on  his  hat  and  overcoat,  and  grasping  firmly  in  his  hand  his 
great  ash  cudgel,  as  if  preparing  for  another  mysterious  en- 
counter with  the  weird-like  denizens  of  the  bog. 

"Jamie,"  said  the  farmer,  "you're  a  gey  whin  stronger 
than  Peter;  tak'  you  the  lantern,  an'  I'll  lift  the  stiles 
mysel'." 

"  But  are  ye  no  feart,  aifber  what  ye've  come  through  this 
awfu'  nicht  1 "  timidly  enquired  his  better-half. 

"  Feart  ?  gudewife,"  defiantly  replied  mine  host — "  feart  1 
I'm  ready  for  anither  fecht  whenever  the  time  comes,  for — 

*'  Wi*  tippeny  we  fear  nae  evil, 

Wi*  usquebae  well  face  the " 

"Fie!  for  shame,  gudeman,"  interrupted  his  wife,  "an' 


WILL-O'-THE-WrSP.  116 

Maister  Robertson,  a  rulin'  elder  o'  the  kirk,  standin'  an'  hearin' 
ye  a'  the  time  !" 

"  But  I  didna  say  the  word,"  quietly  observed  the  gudeman 
in  reply,  taking  the  credit  to  himself  for  his  circumspection. 
"Are  ye  ready,  Jamie?  Come  awa*,  Maister  Robertson. 
Button  up  yer  coat,  and  tie  yer  comforter  round  yer  neck  for 
it's  a  gey  cauld  winter's  nicht." 

And  away  the  trio  went  out  into  the  darkness,  mine 
host  on  the  one  side  and  his  stalwart  son  on  the  other,  with 
the  phlegmatic  and  censorious  Dominie  in  the  midst. 

A  little  bewildered  at  first,  they  soon  got  accustomed  to 
the  darkness,  and  strode  down  the  hill  with  as  steady  steps 
as,  under  the  circumstances,  could  with  a  good  grace  have 
been  anticipated — Jamie  keeping  the  lantern  as  much  in  front 
of  the  Dominie  as  possible,  and  his  father  lifting  the  stiles  at 
the  end  of  each  park  with  due  care  and  attention  to  their  pro- 
gress and  comfort. 

It  was  a  beautiful  liight,  the  ground  crisp  and  hard  with  the 
whitening  frost ;  the  air  clear,  sharp  and  exhilarating,  with 
just  enough  of  wind  as  gently  to  stir  the  leafless  branches  with 
a  deep,  hollow,  weird-like  sadness.  Overhead  the  stars  shone 
out  in  all  their  quiet,  subdued  loveliness,  looking  calmly  down 
upon  the  wayfarers  like  so  many  guardian  angels  overshadowing 
their  midnight  path. 

"  Yonder's  the  spunkies  i'  the  moss,"  burst  out  the 
farmer,  when  they  had  gone  about  mid-way  down  the 
hilL  "Do  ye  no  see  them,  Maister  Robertson,  kickin' 
an'  flingin'  and  caperin'  like  sae  mony  warlocks  frae  the 
ither  warld  1 " 

"I  see,"  replied  the  Dominie,  "what  might  properly  be 
termed  the  inevitable  and  natural  exhaltations  of  a  marsh  or 
moss,  phenomena  of  Nature  explainable  and  clear  in  the  light 
of  science  and  philosophic  research.  The  wonder  would  be, 
not  that  there  should  be  phenomena  of  the  kind,  but  why 
such  should  not  appear  in  all  similar  circumstances." 

"Ye're  aff  the  subject  a'thegither,"  pettishly  rejoined  his 


116  8TRATHM0RE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

companion.  '"  Do  you  really  mean  to  tell  me,  Maister  Daniel 
Hobertson,  that  thae  warlocks  I  encoontered  and  slew  this 
very  nicht  i*  the  bog  yonder  are  no  leevin'  creatur's,  wi'  flesh 
an'  bluid  an'  banes  like  ourselves  V* 

"Wishtl"  said  Jamie,  interrupting.  "Did  you  no  hear 
yon  lauch  1    I  doot  the  waterkelpies  are  abroad  the  nicht ! " 

"What  man  of  ordinary  comprehension,  or  sound  judg- 
ment/' sneeringly  retorted  the  Dominie,  "  could  for  a  moment 
believe  in  such  imaginary  nondescripts  as  waterkelpies,  far 
less  give  credence  to  the  absurd  and  ridiculous  idea  that 
articulate  sounds  of  laughter  could,  by  any  possibility,  proceed 
from  that  which  has  no  existence )    Pshaw !" 

The  travellers  had  now  reached  the  margin  of  the  Kerbet, 
which,  very  much  swollen  by  the  recent  rains,  had  overflowed 
its  banks,  its  dark  and  drumly  waters  stretching  far  and  near 
in  the  hollow,  like  a  vast  inland  lake.  As  good,  or  ill  fortune 
would  have  it,  the  rickety  wooden  bridge  wa^  stiU  left  intact. 
The  courageous  Dominie  now  declared  that,  as  the  frail 
structure  could  not  bear  the  weight  of  more  than  one  indi- 
vidual at  the  same  time,  he  would  go  across  it  alone,  and 
bidding  his  good  guardians  farewell,  he  boldly  proceeded  to 
put  his  brave  purpose  into  execution. 

Brave  Daniel  reached,  without  a  word. 
The  middle  of  the  trembling  ford, 

When  guffaw  from  the  bank, 
A  laugh  arose — his  fate  deplore — 
A  ory  of  terror  reached  the  shore^ 

"  I'U  never  see  my  *  laddies'  more" — 
And  'tween  the  planks  he  sank  I 

"  Whaur  are  ye  ?"  cried  mine  host  behind, 
"  For  I  the  bodie  canna  find, 
I'U  tell't  to  a'  the  clachan : 
Ou,  there  ye  are,  wat,  drucket  hen, 
Half-drooned ;  I  wot  ye'U  no  again 
Hak'  sport  wi'  ony  in  the  glen, 
0'  waterkelpy*8  lauchin  1 

The  crestfallen,  sadly-troubled,  and  discomfited  Dominie 
was  duly  escorted  to  the  door  of  his  house  in  Kinnettles,  where 


WILLK)'-THE-WISP.  117 

his  companions  bade  him  a  kind  adieu,  with  sincerely-expressed 
wishes  that  no  bad  effects  would  follow  his  sudden  and 
mysterious  immersion  in  the  haunted  Kerbet. 

The  farmer  and  his  son  reached  home  in  safety,  very  much 
to  the  delight  and  relief  of  the  ever-watchful  gudewife,  who 
kindly  welcomed  them  at  its  threshhold,  with  as  much  warmth 
of  affection  and  kindly  feeling  as  if  they  had  just  returned 
from  a  long  and  perilous  journey. 

The  worthy  farmer,  and  the  no  less  worthy  Dominie,  now 
sleep  side  by  side  in  the  quiet,  secluded  churchyard  of 
Kinnettles,  undisturbed  in  their  slumbers  by  the  rush  of  their 
native  river,  in  whose  now  unruffled  waters  no  demons  or 
waterkelpies  riot  or  roar ;  but  where  all  is  serenity  and  peace 
in  the  smiling  and  fertile  valley  of  the  Kerbet. 

The  marshes  and  mosses  have  long  since  been  drained  and 
brought  under  productive  cultivation ;  will-o'-the-wisps,  the 
brownies,  and  the  fairies  have  all  disappear^ ;  eldrich  screams 
and  weird-like  sounds  have  given  place  to  the  songs  of  the 
reapers  and  the  melody  of  birds ;  and  green  fields  wave  and 
wild  flowers  bloom  on  the  once  haunted  and  desolate  Bog. 


CHAPTER  XTI. 

THE    VILLAGE    CLUB — 1830. 

"  Ye  powers  wba  mak'  mankind  yer  care, 

An'  dish  them  oot  their  bill  o'  fare, 

Auld  Scotland  wants  uae  skinking  ware, 

That  jaups  in  luggies  ; 

But  if  ye  wish  her  gratefu'  pray'r 

Gie  her  a  haggis  I " 

— Bhvtu. 

In  the  days  of  which  I  write  there  were  no  daily  news- 
papers published  out  of  London,  public  libraries  were  few  and 
far  between,  and  reading-rooms  in  the  country  were  entirely 
unknown.  Hence  the  establishment  of  "  Village  Clubs,"  at 
whose  periodical  meetings  were  reciprocated  the  general  and 
political  news  of  the  week  I  do  not  mean  it  to  be 
understood  that  every  hamlet  or  village  had  its  literary  or 
political  Club;  on  the  contrary,  very  few  of  the  country 
parishes  in  Scotland  could  boast  of  having  anything  even 
approaching  to  the  semblance  of  such  institutions.  People 
then  were  either  content  with  the  perusal  of  the  weekly 
paper  of  the  district  at  their  own  individual  expense,  or  shared 
the  coveted  pleasure  with  others,  each  in  his  turn  transmitting 
the  precious  treasure  throughout  its  prescribed  and  charmed 
circle. 

The  village  Club  of  Glamis  was  neither  wholly  literary  nor 
wholly  political.  True,  it  partook  somewhat  of  both  in  its 
compound  elements,  but  essentially  its  objects  and  aims  were 
of  an  entirely  different  character.  In  a  word,  the  tie  that 
bound  the  members  of  this  little  village  Club  together  was 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUB.  119 

tarusty  friendship,  and  the  end  they  had  in  view — the  cultiva- 
tion of  good  brotherhood. 

"  As  iron  sharpeneth  iron,  so  a  man  sharpeneth  the  coun- 
tenance of  his  friend."  Acting  on  this  principle,  the  subjects 
discussed  at  the  meetings  of  this  small  and  rather  select 
society  embraced  the  literature,  politics,  and  current  news  of 
the  day,  together  with  every  social  and  Christian  topic  which 
might  have  a  tendency  to  amuse  and  instruct.  Fettered  by 
no  creed  of  faith,  guided  by  no  rules  of  debate,  the  conver- 
sation flowed  on  in  an  easy,  off-hand  manner,  with  a  sense  of 
intellectual  freedom  quite  exhilarating  and  delightful.  Re- 
moved on  the  one  hand  from  the  prim-starched,  hypocritical, 
"  unco  gude,"  and  on  the  other  from  the  openly  licentious, 
profane,  or  ribald  winebibber,  the  happy,  versatile  members 
occupied  an  enviable  position  between,  enjoying  in  this 
vantage-ground  a  thorough  appreciation,  if  not  of  lofty  con- 
verse or  elevated  thought,  at  least  of  candour,  truthfulness, 
straightforward  independency  of  purpose,  and  intuitively 
inhaling  an  innate  horror  of  all  that  was  mean  and  selfish, 
artful  or  untrue. 

Delighting  in  odd  numbers,  the  Club  wfw  composed  of  five 
members  only — viz,  the  dominie,  the  laird,  the  student,  the 
miller,  and  the  smith.  Another  odd  feature  in  connection 
with  the  Club  was  that  the  blanks  which  might  be  occasioned 
by  change  of  residence  or  death  were  never  to  be  filled  up  on 
any  pretence  whatever,  and  that  when  four  were  removed  by 
death  the  surviving  member  was  bound  to  visit  the  Club- 
room  in  the  village  hostelrie  every  Auld  Yule  evening 
thereafter  so  long  as  he  was  able,  and  drink  a  bumper  in 
solemn  silence  to  the  memory  of  those  who  were  gone. 

I  shall  now  attempt  to  sketch  the  portraitures  of  the 
members  of  the  Club,  premising  that  there  was  such  diversity 
in  their  moral  and  physical  features,  so  much  of  that  change- 
fill  light  and  shade  so  tantalising  to  the  painter  that  it  need 
not  excite  surprise  if  I  should  comparatively  fail  in  bringing 
them  fully  in  prc^ma  persona  before  my  indulgent  readers. 


120  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

At  the  outset  of  my  sketch  I  feel  considerably  relieved  in 
regard  to  the  first,  and  in  many  respects  the  most  important 
member  of  the  Club,  having  already  in  chapter  xi.,  entitled 
"  Will  o'  the  wisp,*'  given  a  portraiture  of  the  "  Dominie ; " 
for,  be  it  observed,  it  was  he  of  Kinnettles,  and  not  the 
dominie  of  the  parish,  that  was  the  leading  member  in.  the 
Club  of  Glamis.  When  Daniel,  however,  sat  last  for  his  por- 
trait, under  the  roof-tree  of  Foffarty,  he  was  getting  stricken 
in  years,  and  considerably  past  the  prime  of  life,  whereas*  at 
this  time  he  was  in  the  full  vigour  of  manhood,  and  at  the 
height  of  his  fame  as  a  popular  and  successful  teacher.  Not 
a  hair  of  grey  yet  silvered  his  raven  locks,  not  a  wrinkle  had 
furrowed  his  colourless  cheek.  His  air  was  light  and  jaunty, 
and  his  little,  trig  figure  full  of  pompous  agility.  Always 
particular  as  to  his  dress,  he  was  peculiarly  sensitive  as  to  the 
adornment  of  his  person  in  this  the  heyday  of  his  life.  His 
quiet  elegance  was  never  more  persuasive  nor  his  pawky  smile 
more  potent  and  powerful.  Yet  with  all  his  eccentricities 
and  peculiarities  there  lay  beneath  a  pedantic  exterior  a 
warm  and  generous  heart,  to  the  ripe  fruitage  of  which, 
clustering  around  the  future  pathways  of  his  favourite  pupils, 
I  have  elsewhere  and  more  than  once  most  cheerfully  and 
gratefully  borne  the  most  ample  testimony. 

The  Laird  of  Eochel-hill  was  of  an  entirely  different 
character,  being  in  every  respect  the  very  antipodes  of  the 
worthy  Dominie  of  Kinnettles.  Tall,  muscular,  and  firmly- 
knit,  his  iron  frame  seemed  to  have  been  formed  in  a 
Herculean  mould.  If  the  faculties  of  his  mind  did  not  bear 
the  same  proportion  to  the  gigantic  powers  of  his  body  that  ' 
might  have  been  wished,  the  difference  between  the  two  was 
considerably  modified  by  a  quiet,  pawky  humour  peculiarly 
his  own,  and  an  enviable  gift  of  repartee^  which  stood  him  in 
good  stead  when  opposed  to  the  merciless  fire  of  his  opponents 
more  lavishly  gifted  with  the  faculty  of  speech  than  himself. 
Like  the  small  lairds  of  Fife,  he  wore  the  gude  auld  blue 
bonnet,  in  preference  to  the  modern  beaver,  then  coming  into 


\ 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUB.  121 

general  use;  his  hodden  grey  coat,  corduroy  knee-breeches, 
strong  wide-ribbed  hose,  and  steel-heeled,  tackety  brogues  be- 
ing all  in  perfect  keeping  the  one  with  the  other.  Fanning 
his  own  land,  the  Laird  was  a  practical  agriculturist  of  the 
old  school,  admitting  no  novelty  of  any  kind  on  his  lands, 
until  forced  by  the  greater  gain  or  ridicule  of  his  more  pro- 
gressive neighbours  to  adopt  it,  which  he  would  do  quietly, 
and  "under  the  rose,"  and  so  gradually  as  scarcely  to  be  per- 
ceptible, except  in  the  results  that  prospectively  might  follow. 
Exposed  to  all  weathers,  his  complexion  was  as  brown  as  a 
nut,  which  set  forth  in  greater  relief  his  small,  twinkling 
hazel  eyes,  certainly  by  far  the  most  intelligent  part  of  the 
external  physique  of  the  Laird. 

To  sketch  the  Student  is  a  much  more  difficult  task.  I  do 
not  mean  that  there  was  anything  so  peculiar  or  extraordinary 
in  his  external  appearance  that  the  art  of  the  limner  would  be 
thoroughly  baffled  in  its  attempt  to  pourtray  his  features,  and 
catch  his  expression,  and  give  the  general  contour  of  his 
presence.  The  youth  was  fair  to  look  upon ;  and,  with  a 
deeply-benevolent  and  contemplative  expression  in  his  eye,  a 
fresh  spring-flush  of  bloom  on  his  delicate  cheek,  and  a 
winning  smile  playing  ever  around  his  coral  lips,  would,  had 
there  been  nothing  else  to  attract  and  absorb  the  attention, 
have  presented  little  difficulty  to  the  experienced  sketcher  of 
the  "  human  face  divine. "  But  like  the  puzzled  painter  in  a 
wood  full  of  ever-changing  light  and  shade,  the  limner  here 
no  sooner  caught  the  expression  of  the  moment  than  it 
vanished  in  an  instant,  to  give  place  to  an  entirely  different 
"expression,  and  so  on,  ad  infinitum,  until,  bewildered  and  per- 
plexed beyond  the  possibility  of  escape,  he  had  to  throw  away 
his  otherwise  faithful  pencil  in  despair.  Doubtless  the  reaaon 
of  this  ever-changing  light  and  shade  was  the  inward  workings 
of  the  soul  developing  themselves  outwardly,  in  alternate 
night,  alternate  day ;  now,  golden  sunshine,  rife  with  beauty 
and  melodious  sounds ;  anon,  dark  tempests  sweeping  harsh 
the  mountain  pines,  in  weird-like  music  wild ;  this  moment, 


122  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

the  sobbing  rain  beating  mournfully  on  the  window-panes ; 
the  next,  the  rainbow  breaking  through  the  murky  clouds  in 
all  the  gorgeous  colours  of  animating  hope,  and  holy,  peaceful 
love! 

The  Miller  was  a  jolly-looking,  portly,  broad-shouldered 
personage,  of  middle  height,  of  a  sonsie,  florid  complexion, 
with  a  sleek  smile  on  his  cheek,  and  a  waggish  expression  in 
his  eye,  which  betokened  extreme  contentment  and  good 
fellowship.  Indeed,  you  could  scarcely  ever  see  him— -in  the 
mill,  at  market,  in  the  field,  or  seated  at  his  cottage  door  on 
a  fine  summer  evening — without  imagining  he  was  singing, 
like  his  great  prototype,  the  Miller  o'  Dee — 

"  I  care  for  nobody — no,  not  I, 
If  nobody  oares  for  me  I" 

A  well-to-do  farmer's  son  in  the  glen,  the  Miller  had  received 
a  liberal  education,  and,  being  well  posted  up  in  the  current 
literature  of  the  day,  he  was  a  formidable  antagonist  for  any 
village  disputant  who  had  the  temerity  to  break  a  lance  with 
him  in  vain-glorious  rivalry.  Amongst  his  many  good 
qualities,  that  of  the  piety  of  a  learned  and  douce  divine  most 
certainly  did  not  constitute  one  of  the  brightest — 

For  if  my  mind  be  spoken  true. 
He  slept  each  diet  the  sermon  throup^h, 
And  once  fierce  roused  a  drowsy  elder, 
By  roaring  for  another  melder  / 

The  Smith,  stalwart,  lank,  sallow  in  complexion,  with  a 
thoughtful  countenance  and  keen,  black,  piercing  eye,  formed 
a  marked  contrast  to  the  Miller.  Unlike  the  latter,  he  could 
not  boast  of  having  received  a  very  liberal  education,  but  iif 
lieu  of  which  he  had  inherited  acute  powers  of  observation,  a 
considerable  fund  of  mother  wit,  indomitable  industry  and 
perseverance,  and  a  large  amount  of  good,  unvarnished 
common  sense.  An  advanced  Liberal  of  the  extreme  Radical 
type,  he  was  the  oracle  of  the  village  on  all  political  subjects  ; 
and  while  delivering  his  ultimatum  on  the  estates  of  the  realm, 
or  on  things  in  general,  he  exhibited  considerable  knowledge 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUB.  1 23 

of  the  subjects  on  which  he  dilated,  and  showed  not  only  a 
power  of  will  and  strength  of  purpose,  but  a  certain  rugged, 
clenching,  slashing  kind  of  Doric  eloquence  that  seldom  failed 
to  arouse,  if  it  did  not  convince,  those  whom  he  addressed. 
Divinity,  however,  was  his  chief  and  ever  favourite  topic.  He 
could  split  hairs  on  Arianism  and  Calvinism,  free-will  and 
election,  on  the  covenants  of  works  and  the  covenants  of  grace, 
with  the  most  astute  and  subtle  debater  of  the  day.  Instead 
of  going  off,  like  the  Miller,  into  a  state  of  somnambulism  dur- 
ing the  delivery  of  the  village  sermon,  he  kept  the  eyes  of  his 
mind  and  body  awake  even  more  keenly  than  on  other  days,  if 
perchance  some  slip  of  the  tongue,  or  false  stated  proposition, 
might  afford  him  subject-matter  of  discussion  during  the 
ensuing  week.  Yet  the  Smith  had  strong  natural  affections, 
a  ,fine  perception  of  the  true  and  the  beautiful,  elevated  aspira- 
tions and  aims,  and  a  good,  kind,  generous  heart  withal.  The 
smithy  was  the  centre  from  which  radiated  all  the  current 
news  of  politics  and  literature,  as  well  as  the  silly  gossip  and 
scandal  of  the  parish.  There,  amidst  the  showers  of  crackling 
sparks  which  flew  upwards  and  around,  and  the  swift,  sharp 
cracks  of  the  ever-descending  hammer  on  the  ponderous  anvil, 
would  the  brawny,  giant  Smith  propound  the  mysteries  of 
Calvinism,  the  political  creeds  of  Charles  James  Fox  and 
William  Pitt,  or  the  newly  fledged  principles  of  Politi- 
cal Economy  of  Adam  Smith.  While  this  high  converse 
proceeded  in  the  inner  sanctum,  would  brainless  hinds  and 
clownish  gossips  of  the  village  lounge  lazily  around  the  door, 
indulging  in  all  the  tittle-tattle  of  the  parish,  pryiug  into  the 
'secrets  of  the  domestic  hearth,  exposing  with  boisterous  gusto 
the  sins  and  failures  of  their  unsuspecting  neighbours,  and 
rejoicing  with  a  deeper  relish  in  the  downfall  or  punishment 
of  supposed  delinquents,  or  abettors  of  crime,  till,  having 
reached  their  pitiful  climax,  they  rejoicingly  sang  in  chorus : — 

How  fop  Tarn  Langlands  jilted  clean 

Baith  handsome  Boas  and  bonnie  Jean, 
And  took  the  dochter  o'  the  miller, 

Who'd  neither  beauty,  sense,  nor  siller  ! 


124  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

So  much  for  the  dramatis  personce  of  the  village  club  of 
Glamis.  There  is  just  one  other  oddity  to  be  noticed  before 
the  reader's  formal  introduction  to  the  Club,  which  iu  many 
respects,  is  certainly  the  oddest  feature  of  all.  Strange  to  say, 
the  members  all  fancied  themselves  to  be  poets.  To  test  their 
individual  excellences,  or  pretensions  rather,  it  had,  therefore, 
been  resolved  at  the  last  assembly  of  the  Club,  that,  as  their 
next  meeting  would  fall  to  be  held  on  the  evening  of  Auld 
Yule,  each  member  should  compose,  and  bring  with  him  to 
the  gathering,  an  original  song  or  poem  on  subjects  connected 
specially  with  the  Howe  of  Strathmore,  which  he  would  be 
required  to  sing  or  recite  for  the  benefit  and  decision  of  the 
meeting. 

The  appointed  evening  had  at  last  come  round.  Auld  Yule 
once  so  dear  to,  and  so  heartily  celebrated  by,  every 
dweller  in  the  Howe,  again  appeared  in  appropriate  costume, 
attended  by  his  satellites  of  frost  and  snow  and  hail,  and 
heralded  as  was  his  wont  by  the  sweet,  soft  notes  of  robin 
red-breast,  who  on  that  day  welcomed  himself  into  every 
household,  hopping  and  twittering  in  the  porch  or  on  the  floor, 
wishing  all  a  merry  Christmas  and  many  returns  of  the  season, 
and  picking  gratefully  in  return  the  numerous  dainty  crumbs 
which  were  lavishingly  showered  around  him. 

For  three  days  previous  a  severe  and  blinding  snow-storm 
had  ruthlessly  swept  over  the  Strath,  obscuring  every  familiar 
landmark,  and  foreboding  a  long  continued  "  feeding  "  storm. 
To  the  intense  delight  of  every  one  in  the  Howe,  however, 
the  morning  of  Auld  Yule  broke  out  bright  and  beautiful,  the 
cheering  rays  of  the  sun  tinging  with  a  satfron  and  orange 
radiance  the  summits  of  the  Sidlaw  and  Grampian  Hills,  and 
crowning  with  a  jewelled  diadem  of  purple  and  gold  the  far- 
ofl^  snow-capped  Caim-a-Month  and  Mount  fiiair,  scattering 
with  prodigal  beauty  around  the  upheaving  lofty  peak  of  the 
still  more  remote  Schiehallion  the  concentrated  effulgence  of 
their  united  glory  and  splendour.  Many  a  fat  brose  breakfast 
was  cheerfully,  yet  speedily  discussed  that  morning  in  the 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUB.  125 

Strath  and  Glen,  and  many  a  happy  group  of  lads  and  lasses 
erewhile  went  on  their  several  ways  to  spend  a  happy 
Christmas  with  their  distant  friends  forming  truly  a  red- 
letter  day  in,  to  them,  the  calendar  of  life. 

Towards  afternoon,  however,  unmistakable  symptoms 
appeared  in  the  heavens  of  a  fresh  outbreak  of  the  storm. 
The  sky  grew  troubled  and  gloomy;  dark,  murky,  leaden 
clouds  obscured  the  lustre  of  the  sun's  cold  yet  genial  rays ; 
and  the  feathery  snowflakes  began  silently  and  steadily  to  fall, 
until  the  whole  Strath  was  again  enveloped  in  winter's  livery 
of  spotless  white.  Ajs  evening  advanced  the  mysterious  winds, 
erewhile  asleep  in  their  unknown  caves,  suddenly  awoke  in 
all  their  howling  wrath,  whirling  the  snow-wreathes  with 
maddening  strength  along  the  plain,  and  fiercely  drifting  the 
thickly-falling  snow  in  blinding  eddies  of  resistless  fury. 

**  A  terrible  storm,  Mrs  Hendry,"  said  our  friend  the  Smith, 
who  was  the  first  to  arrive  at  the  village  hostelrie.  "I'm 
thinkin*  the  Dominie  will  hae  a  gey  warsall  wi'  the  drift  atween 
the  hedges  o'  Brigton  afore  he  tastes  your  haggis  the  nichf 

''An  awfu'  storm,  indeed,"  replied  our  buxom  hostess; 
".but  Pve  nae  fear  o'  Maister  Robertson  gettin'  safely  through 
the  drift,  for " 

"  For  what  1"  cried  the  Miller,  who  next  abruptly  entered, 
shaking  off  the  snow  from  his  brawny  shoulders,  for  he  scorned 
to  wear  a  greatcoat,  be  the  storm  however  severe — "  for  what?" 
he  repeated,  as  he  whirled  his  north-wester  to  its  usual  nag  in 
the  lobby. 

"  For  he's  sae  very  wee,"  pawkilly  replied  our  hostess. 
"  Little  bodies  are  the  teuchest  at  ony  time,  but  teuchest  ava 
in  a  storm." 

"My  certie!"  laughingly  rejoined  the  miller,  "it's  just  as 
weel  for  ye  Maister  Daniel's  no  here  for  naething  offends  his 
dignity  so  much  as  to  be  ca'd  leetle.  But  here  come  our 
friends  from  the  glen — the  laird  and  the  young  minister — as 
white  as  if  they'd  been  smoored  in  ane  o'  my  sacks  o'  flour." 

"You're  aye  sae  white  wi'  meal  yoursel',  Miller,"  quietly 


126  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

retorted  the  laird,  "  that  ye  think  it  odd  fin  ither  folk  appear 
in  your  favourite  livery — eh  1" 

"Come  now,"  coaxingly  said  the  miller  to  the  bashful 
student,  "  lat  me  help  you  aff  wi'  that  Puritan-lookin'  cloak  o' 
yours ;  and  when  you're  a  minister,  I  chap  to  be  the  minister's 
man,  for  in  that  case  I  wid  hae  nae  fear,  o'  you  acquittin' 
yourseF  to  my  entire  satisfaction/' 

"Did  ye  ever  here  sic  vanity  1"  interruptingly  cried  the 
smith.  "Man" — addressing  the  miller — "ye  ken  nae  mair 
about  prechin'  than  daft  Geordie,  that  never  darkens  a  kirk 
door ;  and  as  for  predestination '' 

"Stop,  stop,"  said  the  student,  smilingly;  "it  is  quite  out 
of  place  to  debate  such  knotty  points  of  divinity  on  Old 
Christmas  night.  This  is  the  season  of  innocent  amusement 
and  good  cheer,  and  the  learned  debate  must  for  once  give 
way  to  the  generous  sentiment  and  cheerful  song." 

"Capital,  Maister  Student!"  exultingly  said  the  miller. 
"  That's  my  mind  to  a  hair ;  and  until  the  dominie  mak's  his 
appearance,  we'll  carry  out  the  suggestion  in  a  practical 
manner.  Mrs  Hendry,  this  is  Auld  Yule  nicht,  ye  ken,  an' 
we'll  just  tak'  a  dram  oot  o'  yer  ain  bottle  to  begin  wi'  for  the 
praise-worthy  purpose,  as  the  Glasgow  bodies  would  say,  of 
sharpening  oor  appetites  a  wee  bit  for  the  proper  enjoyment 
o'  yer  excellent  haggis. " 

"That's  not  exactly  what  I  meant,  however,"  said  the 
student,  quietly,  aside  to  the  laird;  "but  the  miller  must 
have  his  own  way  for  one  night  at  least. " 

"When  I  spoke  of  predestination,"  chimed  in  the  smith, 
"  I  didna  at  a'  mean  to  pursue  the  subject  to  its  logical  and 
legitimate  conclusion ;  but  the  allusion  to  the  Puritan  cloak 
went  richt  into  my  very  heart,  just  as  if  I'd  seen  the  black 
banner  o'  the  Covenant  flutterin'  i'  the  breeze  at  the  battle  o' 
Bothwell  Brig.  The  fac'  is,  there  are  very  few  divines  even 
in  our  day  who  really  ken  the  difference,  if  any,  atween  pre- 
destination, free  will,  or  election,  or 

"  I  wish  you  all  a  merry  Christmas,  my  friends,  and  many 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUR  127 

happy  returns  of  the  season,"  shiveringly  exclaimed  a  voice, 
issuing  from  what  at  first  sight  appeared  to  be  a  round  living 
snow-ball,  which,  like  a  ghostly  apparition,  noiselessly  ap- 
peared in  their  midst. 

"It's  Maister  Robertson,  upon  my  word  !"  excitedly  cried 
the  miller,  and  in  a  twinkling  he  had  eased  him  of  his  hat  and 
greatcoat,  unfolding  in  propria  personce  the  veritable  dominie 
of  Rinnettles,  who,  pleased  to  see  the  attention  and  deference 
paid  to  him,  smiled  one  of  his  pawkiest  smiles,  and  conde- 
scendingly shook  them  all  very  heartily  by  the  hand,  express- 
ing at  the  same  time  his  high  appreciation  of,  and  grateful 
thanks  for,  their  kindly  greeting. 

"  Supper's  ready,  gentlemen, "  said  the  worthy  hostess,  and 
immediately  led  the  way  to  the  principal  room  upstairs,  where, 
on  the  hospitable  board,  already  smoked  the  favourite 
national  haggis,  iSanked  by  some  dainty  barnyard  fowls  and 
reaming  bickers  of  Edinburgh  ale. 

The  dominie,  as  President  of  the  Club,  took  the  chair 
amidst  loud  applause,  and,  after  he  had  said  grace  the  demolish - 
ment  of  the  tempting  viands  was  begun  in  good  earnest,  each 
helping  the  other  with  the  utmost  cordiality  and  good  feel- 
ing. 

"What  a  fine  haggis,  though,"  at  last  breaking  the  silence 
of  speech,  half-chokingly,  said  the  miller.  "I  think  our 
national  bard  was  never  more  richt  than  when  he  christened 
the  haggis,  *  chieftain  o'  the  puddin'  race  " — 

"  '  His  knife  see  rustio  labour  dight, 
And  cut  you  up  wi*  ready  slight, 
Trenching  your  gushing  entrails  bright 

Like  ony  ditch ; 
And  then,  oh,  what  a  glorious  sight, 

Warm,  reekin',  rich  ! ' 


II  «> 


A  leg  o'  that  chuckle,  laird,  if  you  please  " — adding,  after  a 
good  long  swill  at  the  bicker — "  and  you  may  send  me  a  wee 
bit  o'  that  nice  ham  beside  you,  Maister  Robertson.  Thank 
ye,   that  will  do/'  immediately  resuming  his  masticating 


128  STBATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

powers,  which,  to  do  them  justice,  seemed  to  be  of  a  rare 
order  indeed. 

"I  trust  you  are  all  enjoying  your  Auld  Yule  supper?" 
quietly  enquired  the  worthy  President.  "For  my  part, 
taking  example  from  the,  English,  I  say  as  little  as  possible 
during  my  meals,  reserving  the  ^  feast  of  reason  and  the  flow 
of  sour  for  the  wine  and  desert.     Any  more  haggis,  laird  ?" 

"  Nae  mair,  thank  you ;  but  I  think  I've  a  wee  bit  comer 
for  a  slice  o'  that  fine  tongue — a  commodity  I'm  no  over- 
burthened  wi'.  Will  you  tak'  a  slice,  too,  Maister  Student  ? 
— I  thocht  I  saw  ye  lookin'  wi'  a  sheep's  e'e  in  that  direction 
— ehl" 

"  You  have  kindly  anticipated  my  wishes, "  politely  rejoined 
the  student ;  "  and  I  will  trouble  you,  Mr  Smith,  for  a  wing 
of  that  fowl  before  you,  also,  when  you  are  disengaged.^' 

"  Wi'  great  pleasure,"  said  the  smitL  "As  for  mysel*,  I'll 
stick  to  the  haggis  the  nicht,  it  bein'  mair  in  keepin  wi'  the 
national  holiday  o'  Auld  Christmas.  Our  puir  ancestors,  the 
Covenanters,  would  hae  been  glad  to  hae  tasted  a  bit  o'  it 
when  wandering  o'er  the  mountains  and  hidin'  in  dens  an' 
caves  o'  the  earth. " 

"  Aff  on  the  wrang  tack  again,"  said  the  miller;  "but  the 
best  way  is  to  lat  ye  rin  the  length  o'  yer  tether ;  and  I'm 
thinkin'  afore  it's  run  oot  in  a  nicht  like  this,  yell  be  sne 
chokit  i'  the  snaw,  ye'U  be  unco  glad  to  get  safe  back  again 
amon'  kent  folk  at  the  keepin'  o'  Auld  Yule,  wi'  a'  the  happy 
comforts  o'  a  cozy  fireside — ^ha,  ha,  ha !" 

Thanks  having  been  returned  by  the  student,  the  cloth  and 
ei  ceieras  were  removed  from  the  table,  leaving  its  well- 
polished  mahogany  exposed  to  view,  as  a  fitting  testimony  to 
the  care  and  tidiness  of  our  excellent  hostess. 

While  the  punch-bowl  and  necessary  adjuncts  are  being 
brought  in  I  may  as  well  explain  that  the  table  at  which  our 
worthies  sat  was  of  a  shape  perfectly  round,  and  as  Knights 
of  the  Round  table,  except  the  arm-chair  on  which  the  presid- 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUB.  129 

ent  sat,  there  was  no  other  mark  visible  to  distingaish  one 
member  from  another. 

"  Are  your  glasses  all  charged,  gentlemen  1 "  enquired  the 
Chairman.  "  You  are  aware  we  only  drink  to  two  toasts  at  our 
meetings,  viz. — *The  King  and  Constitution,'  and  *  Our  noble 
Selves. '  Let  them  be  given  at  once,  that  we  may  proceed  to 
the  more  important  business  of  the  evening.  '  To  the  King 
and  Constitution, '  gentlemen. " 

The  toast  having  been  duly  honoured,  the^Miller  was  called 
upon  to  give  "  Our  Noble  Selves, "  which  he  did  in  almost  as 
brief  terms  as  the  President  had  given  the  previous  toast, 
with  this  difference,  however,  that  the  former  insisted  that  his 
toast  should  be  drunk  to  with  all  the  honours,  together  with 
a  tremendous  "  hip,  hip,  hurrah, "  as  a  necessary  and  suitable 
conclusion  to  his  speech. 

All  having  resumed  their  seats,  the  Student  proposed  that, 
as  the  night  was  fast  wearing  away,  the  real  business  of  the 
evening  should  now  be  proceeded  with. 

"  Ye'U  be  sittin'  on  heckle-pins,"  satirically  said  the  Laird,  "till 

ye  get  quit  o'  the  burthen  o*  your  sang,  Maister  Student,  ehl" 

'*It  will  come  to  your  ain  turn  by-and-by.  Laird,"  quietly 

said  the  Smith.     "  Ye'll  nae  doot  astonish  us  a'  the  nicht  wi* 

your  leamin'. " 

<<  Well  then,  gentlemen, "  said  the  President,  glad  to  change 
at  once  the  current  of  conversation,  "  to  encourage  you  in  your 
poetical  efforts,  I  will,  without  the  least  hesitation,  give  you 
the  trifle  I  have  composed  for  this  evening's  entertainment." 
The  Dominie  then,  in  a  fine  clear,  musical  voice,  sang — 

The  Bokkie  Howb  o'  Sweet  Strathmore. 
Air — "  Bonnie  Wood  o*  Oaigie  Lee. " 
Soft  flow  thy  streams,  bright  bloom  thy  flowers, 

Thy  birdies  liltin'  as  of  yore, 
The  music  of  thy  fragrant  bowers 
The  voice  of  loye  awakes  once  more. 

Thou  bonnie  Howe  o'  sweet  Strathmore, 
Thou  bounie  Howe  o'  sweet  Strathmore, 
Life's  early  spring-time  spent  in  thee, 
My  blessings  on  thee  eyermore. 
I 


130  STRATHMORS :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

And  must  I  leaye  thee,  bonnie  Howe, 
To  brave  the  broad  Atlantic's  roar, 
By  gowand  lea  and  broomy  knowe, 
Are  all  my  youthful  ramblings  o'er  T 

Thou  bonnie  Howe  o'  sweet  Strathmore, 
Thou  bonnie  Howe  o'  sweet  Strathmore, 
Life's  joyous  summer  spent  in  thee, 
And  must  I  leave  thee  evermore  ! 


Far  from  thy  vooal  woods  and  streams, 

My  fate  I  weeping  sad  deplore. 
Yet  oft  my  sunny  golden  dreams, 
Do  all  thy  charms  to  me  restore. 

Thou  bonnie  Howe  o'  sweet  Strathmore, 
Thou  bonnie  Howe  o'  sweet  Strathmore, 
Life's  autumn  spend  I  far  from  thee, 
Oh  I  shall  I  never  see  thee  more  f 

Years  fled — enraptured  now  I  see 

My  own  loved  native  Strath  again, 
Hail !  bonnie  Howe  !  shout  I  with  glee, 
Hark  1  love  re-echoes  back  the  strain. 

Thou  bonnie  Howe  o'  sweet  Strathmore, 
Thou  bonnie  Howe  o'  sweet  Strathmore, 
Life's  closing  eve  111  spend  in  thee, 
And  never,  never  leave  thee  more  ! 

''  Excellent ! "  said  all  the  members,  as  with  one  voice  they 
cordially  pronounced  their  verdict. 

"I  wish  I  could  sing  like  you,  Maister  Eobertson,"  quietly 
said  the  Smith ;  "  but  my  feeble  voice,  never  very  gude,  is  noo 
a  little  cracket,  an'  I  dinna  hae  the  same  heart  to  lilt  awa'  as 
I  used  to  do  in  my  young  days." 

"Come  awa'  wi'  your  sang,"  impatiently  rejoined  the 
Miller,  "  We  a'  ken  vera  weell  you're  juist  like  a  win'bag  at  the 
burstin' — ha,  ha,  ha !" 

"  Order,  gentlemen, "  indignantly  said  the  President  *'  No 
insinuations,  Mr  Miller.     Your  song,  Mr  Smith. " 

'^Belangin'  as  I  do,  to  Douglastown,"  said  the  Smith,  'Tve 
made  up  a  wee  bit  sangie  aboot  my  native  Kerbet,  which  I'll 
sing  the  best  way  I  can."    Sings — 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUB.  131 

The  Swift  Flowiivo  Eerbet. 

Air — "Saw  ye  my  Father. " 

Sweet  were  the  days  by  the  swift  flowing  Eerbet, 

When  I  trudged  to  Kinnettles'  wee  school ; 
Or  fond  wi'  young  Jessie  oft  willingly  linger'd 

To  gase  in  the  deep  minnow  pool. 

Fair  were  the  lawns  and  the  fields  of  sweet  Brigton, 

Surrounded  by  woodlands  so  green  ; 
The  sheep  feeding  rich  in  the  haughs  and  the  meadows, 

The  river  meandering  between. 

Wild  were  our  pranks  with  the  kind-hem^d  miller, 

As  o'er  the  lade  waters  we  swam  ; 
Or  sly  stopp'd  the  voice  of  the  noisy  loud  happer, 

By  shutting  the  sluice  of  the  dam. 

Loud,  long  our  glad  shoutings  on  holiday  mornings. 

As  we  play'd  on  the  sunny  bright  knowes ; 
Or  piled  the  ripe  fruit  in  our  bumish'd  white  flagons, 

As  we  lay  'mong  the  blackberry  boughs. 

I've  drank  of  the  waters  of  many  strange  rivers. 

And  gaz'd  on  fair  maidens  divine, 
But  my  heart  turns  to  thee,  my  own  native  Kerbet, 

The  sights  and  the  sounds  o'  langsyne. 

"A  very  sweet  song,  indeed,"  approvingly  said  the  Chair- 
man. 

"An'  weel  sung,  too,"  chimed  in  the  Laird,  betraying  at 
the  same  time  considerable  uneasiness  as  the  time  approached 
for  him  to  give  tangible  evidence  of  his  poetical  powers. 

"Nae  shirkin',  noo,"  authoritatively  said  the  Miller.  "If 
ye  canna  sing,  Laird,  ye  maun  juist  get  up  upon  your  feet  an' 
mak'  a  speech  as  lang's  my  airm ;  an'  if  so,  it'll  no  be  short, 
I'm  thinkin'." 

"We  are  all  impatiently  waiting  for  your  song.  Laird," 
said  the  President,  respectfully,  "  and  I  feel  our  expectations 
in  regard  to  your  mental  and  vocal  powers  will  be  more  than 
realised." 

In  obedience  to  the  fiat  of  his  chief,  the  Laird  with  great 
emotion  sang — 


132  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

GLAias'  Bonnie  Bubnie. 
Air—'*  Katherine  Ogie. " 

From  springs  on  Sidlaw*s  highest  hills 

Flows  Glamis'  bonnie  bumie  ; 
And  down  the  glen  it  murmiirs  sweet} 

Wi'  mony  a  jinkin*  tumie. 
It  laves  the  meadows  bright  and  green, 

Where  lasses  soft  are  singing. 
And  wild  woods  with  the  melody 

Of  happy  birds  are  ringing. 

All  Nature  sang  fair  Isa*8  charms, 

Heav'n's  smiles  in  bliss  revealing, 
As  to  mine  own  her  lips  I  prest, 

And  nought  from  her  concealing. 
She  vowed  her  heart  was  wholly  mine, 

Forsake  me  would  she  never ; 
Believing  then  her  words  sincere. 

My  love  I  gave  for  ever. 

On  still  thou  flow'st,  my  bonnie  bum, 

But  thy  voice  is  wild  and  dreary ; 
Birds'  dowie  songs  attune  no  more 

My  heart  so  faint  and  weary. 
Woes  me  !  the  sunshine  of  my  soul 

With  her  hath  all  departed  : 
No  longer  mine,  yet  from  my  heart. 

Oh  !  never  to  be  parted. 

The  Laird's  song  had  apparently  astoniBhed  them  all,  for, 
instead  of  instant  applause  following,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
others,  the  members  seemed  to  be  struck  dumb  with  amaze- 
ment, as  if  they  had  not  expected  so  fine  marble  out  of  such 
an  unpromising  quarry. 

''That's  fine,  though,"  patronisingly  said  the  Miller,  at 
length.  "  Ye'd  surely  been  jilted.  Laird,  i'  your  youth,  else 
ye  widnae  kent  sae  weel  aboot  it " 

"  We  will  compare  it  with  your  own  by-and-by,"  quizzingly 
remarked  the  Chairman.  "  Now,  Mr  Miller,  we  are  all  atten- 
tion, sir,  expecting  you  will  astonish  us  by  as  gratifying  an 
exhibition  of  the  muse's  inspirations  as  those  to  which  we  have 
just  listened  with  so  much  pleasure. " 

What  a  terrible  nicht  that  is,  though,"  said  the  Miller, 


(( 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUB.  1 33 

looking  in  the  direction  of  the  window,  and  apparently  quite 
unheeding  the  satirical  remarks  of  the  worthy  Chairman. 
"  The  wind's  roarin*  amon'  the  trees  as  if  a*  the  demons  an' 
evil  speerits  o'  the  air  had  been  let  loose  at  ance  by  the  Prince 
o'  Darkness  to  terrify  us  puir  bodies  wi'  their  screechin'  din  an' 
eldrich  screams;  an'  the  snaw-flakes  are  flappin'  an'  dashin' 
against  the  shiverin'  window-panes  juist  like  a  heart-broken 
lover  in  sorrow  an'  in  pain,  left  alane  to  his  hopeless  fate  by 
his  cruel  false  one,  noo  left  him  for  ever " 

"Very  good,"  interrupted  the  Chairman;  "but  we  want 
your  song,  Mr  Miller." 

"  Juist  like  him,"  said  the  Smith,  with  a  triumphant  leer  in 
his  waggish  eye.  "  Nane  kens  better  than  himsel'  what  we're 
a'  waitin'  for.     It's  time  his  win'-bag  was  burst,  at  onyrate.  ** 

A  peal  of  laughter  followed  this  well-timed  repartee  of  the 
Smith,  which,  having  somewhat  subsided,  the  Miller  indig- 
nantly rejoined — 

"  I'll  match  my  ain  native  Dean  wi'  the  drumley  Rerbet 
ony  day;"  and  immediately,  in  a  fine  tenor  voice,  very 
tenderly  sang — 

Mt  Ain  Bonnie  Dean. 
Air — "  Mrs  Admiral  Gordon's  Strathspey." 

Of  a'  the  streams  that  gently  flow 

By  moorland,  strath,  or  den, 
I  loYe  the  Dean,  meand'ring  slow 

Where  dwells  sweet  Lizsie  Glen. 
She*8  dear  to  me  as  ane  can  be. 

Love  sparkles  in  her  een  ; 
Her  Yoice  sae  sweet  oft  mingles  meet 

Wi'  my  ain  Bonnie  Dean. 

Sing  by  her  oot,  my  bonnie  stream, 

Her  charms  sae  rich  and  rare  ; 
Gay  deck,  wi'  diamond  jewels  bright, 

Her  gowden  tresses  fair. 
Then  on  thy  bosom  tenderly 

Bring  safe  my  bridal  queen, 
By  gow'ny  howe  and  broomy  knowe, 

Come  thou,  my  bonnie  Dean. 


134  STUATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

I  carena  for  the  winflome  swains. 

Nor  each  admiring  e'e ; 
No  a'  their  art,  wi'  dextrous  dart, 

CSan  wile  her  heart  frae  me. 
Wi'  lay'rocks  liltin'  in  the  lift. 

An'  linties  by  the  green, 
True,  constant  both,  we'll  pledge  our  troth, 

By  thee,  my  bonnie  Dean. 

In  after  days,  when  baamies  play 

Upon  thy  haeel  braes. 
And  Lizzie  sings  o'  wedded  joys, 

While  spreading  out  her  claes, 
The  burden  o'  her  sang  will  be. 

While  fond  I  listen  keen — 
"  0,  blessings  rest  the  swedtest,  best, 

On  thee,  my  bonnie  Dean  !" 

A  long  ringing  burst  of  general  applause  followed  the 
singing  of  ^'Bonnie  Dean,^  which  having  been  suitably 
acknowledged  by  the  Miller,  the  Student  was  next  called  upon 
for  his  anxiously-expected  contribution  to  the  evening's 
enjoyment. 

"We'll  get  something  noo,"  said  the  Laird,  "that'll  be 
worth  the  listenin'  to,  for  as  he  and  I  cam'  alang  frae  the 
glen  thegither  to  the  meetin'  o'  the  Club  the  nicht,  he  wad 
scarce  speak  a  single  word,  but  keepit  strummin'  and  hummin' 
awa'  to  himsel',  as  if  he  was  either  demented,  or  in  a  deep 
broon  study  wi'  which  nae  ordinar*  mortal  was  fit  to  enter- 
meddle." 

"But  he's  maistly  aye  that  way,"  rejoined  the  Miller; 
"  aye  think,  thinkin'  awa'  to  himsel'  fin  he  should  be  engaged 
in  the  conversation  that  may  be  goin'  on,  or  else  he  juist  runs 
in  a  minute  to  the  other  extreme.  He's  a  perfect  cameleon — 
he's  never  half  an  hour  after  the  same  thing. " 

"Grantin'  yer  premises  are  richt,"  said  the  more  observant 
Smith,  "yonr  deductions  are  no  soond.  It  by  no  means 
follows  that  because  our  young  friend  is  reticent  at  one  time' 
and  loquacious  at  anither,  that  he  should  therefore,  or  neces- 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUB.  135 

sarily,  be  devoid  either  of  high  intellectual  thought,  or  of  a 
steady  persevering  will  to  carry  his  thoughts,  whatever  these 
maj  be  to  a  definite  and  practical  conclusion," 

"I  agree  entirely  with  our  good  friend  the  Smith," 
rem&rked  the  Chairman,  "  who  has  stated  the  case  with  his 
usual  clearness  and  good  sense " 

"The  forester  tells  me,  too,"  interruptingly  persisted  the 
Miller^  "  that  if  a  wee  bit  birdie  happens  to  gie  a  bit  liltie, 
that  nae  ither  body  wid  tak'  the  least  notice  o',  the  electrified 
Stulent  will  listen  to  it  in  rapture,  as  if  it  were  an  angel  fae 
Hesven  that  sang  upon  the  tree " 

**  You  do  me  by  far  too  much  honour ,"  said  the  Student, 
quietly  interrupting  the  Miller  in  his  turn.  "  The  light  and 
shade  of  which  you  speak  are  the  result  of  inward  emotioiis 
implanted  by  the  great  Creator,  doubtless  to  serve  some  useful 
and  beneficent  purpose  hereafter.  If  I  sometimes  revel  in  a 
visionary  land  of  golden  dreams,  surrounded  by  an  atmos- 
phere of  melodious  song,  it  is  equally  my  delight  to  dwell 
with  my  fellow-men  upon  this  fair  and  beautiful  earth,  and  to 
exhibit  as  far  as  I  can  all  the  traits  and  feelings  of  an  intensely 
human,  tender,  loving  heart.  But,  dismissing  this  subject,  as 
too  personal  for  the  present,  permit  me  to  say  that  I  have 
noticed  with  great  interest  that  the  sentiments  expressed  in 
the  songs  you  have  so  creditably  sung  to-night  refer  almost 
exclusively  to  the  past :  and,  strange  to  say,  I  have  uncon- 
sciously struck  the  same  key-note  in  the  verses  which,  with 
your  leave,  brother  members,  I  will  now  read  to  you." 
Beads.) 

The  Dat8  C  Lakostite. 

Ab  in  the  gloaming's  eerie  calm, 

'Midst  fancies  fleeting  fast, 
Our  thoughts  in  unison  revert 

All  fondly  to  the  past, 
So  in  the  eyening  soft  of  life, 

The  scenes  that  brightest  shine 
Within  our  inmost  heart  of  hearts 

Are  the  days  o'  langsyne. 


1 36  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Nowy  88  b«ade  the  fire  I  sit. 

In  my  old  rocking-chair, 
Before  the  lighted  tapers  gleam. 

Disclosing  beauties  fair, 
How  yivid  come  the  Tiaions  blest. 

Like  sweet  celestial  dreams. 
Of  my  own  uatiye  valley — list ! 

The  music  of  its  streams. 

The  gowans^  whins,  the  buttercups. 

In  all  their  beauty  bloom, 
The  gowdies  and  the  Unties  sing 

Among  the  yellow  broom. 
Again  I  wander  by  the  bum 

That  skirts  the  homestead  dear — 
My  own  loved  home  !  can  I  conceal 

The  tributary  tear  ? 

No  !  gem  with  liquid  silvery  pearls 

This  roughly  wrinkled  cheek, 
All  fondly  gushing  from  the  heart. 

Of  life's  bright  mom  they  speak. 
My  father's  manly  form  I  see, 

I  hear  my  mother's  voice, 
And  the  rhymes  of  some  old  melody 

Do  now  my  heart  rejoice. 

How  fresh  the  sough  of  wild-woods  green 

Plays  round  my  raptured  ear, 
Recalling  whisperings  from  afar 

Of  memories  ever  dear  1 
How  clear  the  bleating  of  the  sheep. 

The  lowing  of  the  kine  ! 
Alas !  how  dear,  how  very  dear 

The  days  o'  langsyne. 

The  mill-wheel  dashes  roimd  and  round. 

The  miller  spruce  and  gay. 
The  lads  and  lasses  lilting  loud, 

I  e'en  as  glad  as  they ; 
As,  on  the  sunny  knowe,  beside 

The  tufts  of  golden  broom, 
'Midst  songs  of  birds,  soft  hymns  of  streams 

Wild  flowers  of  richest  bloom — 

I  sit  and  read  the  ancient  lays 

Of  classic  Greece  and  Rome, 
Or  sing  with  abbot,  monk,  and  nun 

Beneath  cathedral  dome ; 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUB.  137 

My  young  soul  stirred  to  ecstacy 

By  deeds  of  the  olden  time, 
My  thoughts,  unconscious,  moulding  slow. 

In  strains  of  flowing  rhjrme. 

Or  wandering  on  the  Hunter  Hill, 

The  dreamy  poet  boy. 
My  youthful  bosom  heaving  wild 

With  strange  tumultuous  joy, 
As  round  me  stretch  the  mountain  groyes. 

Like  dim  cathedral  aisles. 
While  sunbeams  flash  athwart  the  gloom, 

Like  God's  own  holy  smiles. 

And  she  I  loved but  feelings  rise 

That  are  akin  to  pain. 
For,  oh,  the  joys  of  early  love, 

They  never  oome  again  I 
Yet  stiU  in  sunshine,  radiant,  pure. 

Within  my  heart  she  dwells, 
Her  voice  vibrating  sweet  its  chords, 

lake  chime  of  silver  bells. 

Again  the  exulting  soul  is  full 

Of  early  memories, 
All  revellinjf  blissful  in  the  strains 

Of  ancient  melodies. 
The  cherished  odour  of  the  fir. 

Perfumes  the  mountain  air. 
The  same  glad  hymn  the  lav'rock  sings, 

The  uplands  bloom  as  fair. 

The  ripening  grain,  so  golden  bright. 

Is  waving  all  around. 
The  brook  runs  lapping  o'er  the  stones 

With  its  ancient  silver  sound. 
Lo  !  there  in  comer  of  the  glen, 

Beneath  the  shadow  oool 
Of  hanging  woods  on  Hunter  Hill, 

My  own  loved  Aimiefoul. 

And  here  old  Rover  wags  his  tail. 

In  welcome  at  the  style. 
As  from  my  pony  I  dismount. 

And  pat  his  head  the  while. 
Or  when  from  distant  village  school, 

I  come  at  eve's  decline, 
I  hear  his  joyous  bark  as  in 

The  days  o'  langsjme. 


138  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

The  blessed  Sabbath  peaceful  dawns 

In  all  its  sacred  calm  ; 
Hark !  sweet  arise  the  morning  prayer, 

The  holy  altar  psalm. 
Again  within  the  village  church 

My  pastor's  voice  I  hear ; 
"Devizes"'  notes  in  plaintive  swell. 

Oft  bringing  fond  the  tear. 

The  breezes  fresh  from  heather  hills 

Come  fragrant  as  of  yore, 
My  throbbing  pulses  bounding  beat — 

Yes,  I  am  young  once  more  ; 
And  all  is  fair  and  beautiful. 

Each  sound,  each  sight  divine ; 
Alas  !  how  dear,  how  very  dear, 

The  days  o'  langsyne  1 

No  response  coming  from  his  friends,  the  Student,  while 
folding  up  his  manuscript,  looked  inquiringly  around  the 
table  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  the  strange  silence.  To  his 
surprise  the  several  members  were  in  tears.  Tears  are 
sympathetic,  and  in  the  eyes  of  the  amazed  and  bewildered 
Student,  the  tears  came  quickly  and  unbidden,  although  he 
yet  could  scarcely  tell  the  reason  why.  All  at  once  this 
thought  struck  him  with  startling  effect — "  Have  I  through 
my  imaginary  hero  given,  by  anticipation,  expression  to  the 
feelings  which  I  may  experience  in  after-life,  after  having 
passed  through  the  storms  of  sixty  winters,  and  suffered  all 
the  ills  which  flesh  is  heir  to )  and  are  these  the  calm,  yet 
melancholy  reflections,  which  will,  at  that  decade  of  my 
existence,  occupy  my  mind  when  about  to  gird  up  my  loins 
for  the  passage  across  the  dark  river,  to  the  unknown  world 
beyond?"  The  Student,  overcome  with  his  emotions, 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  wept  long  and  bitterly, 
as  one  who  would  not  be  comforted. 

"  I  think  weVe  been  a'  greetin'  thegither,*'  at  last  said  the 
Miller,  at  the  same  time  wiping,  with  his  coat-sleeve,  the  big 
tears  that  still  stood  in  his  humid  eyes.  "  That  was  very 
affectin',  though,  Maister  Student;  it  cam'  to  the  heart  at 


THB  VILLAGE  CLUB.  139 

ance,  an'  although  I  strove  hard  to  hide  my  feelin's,  I  was 
fairly  overcome  at  the  last." 

''It  is  such  touches  of  Nature,"  solemnly  remarked  the 
President,  '* '  that  makes  the  whole  world  kin.' " 

"It's  ten  minutes  ayont  the  twal,"  resumed  the  Miller. 
"  We'll  just  hae  deuchin  doris,  then,  *  Auld  Langsyne,'  an'  syne 
we'll  part — ^happy  to  meet,  sorry  to  part,  and  happy  to  meet 
again." 

The  stirrup-cup  was  duly  handed  round,  the  worthy 
Chairman  remarking  during  its  progress  that  he  hoped  they 
would  have  many  more  such  happy  and  profitable  meetings 
in  the  days  that  were  to  come. 

All  now  rose  to  their  feet,  and,  led  by  the  stentorian  voice 
of  the  Miller,  sung  with  fine  effect,  and  with  considerably 
greater  feeling  than  their  wont,  the  grand  old  national 
anthem,  so  dear  to  the  heart  of  every  Scotchman,  whether 
at  home  or  abroad. 

Descending  to  the  lobby,  they  found  the  worthy  hostess 
ready  to  hand  them  their  greatcoats  and  mufflers ;  and  the 
process  of  wrapping  up  having  been  completed  to  their  entire 
satisfaction,  they  issued  forth  from  the  comfortable  hostelrie 
into  the  cold  air  of  a  frosty  winter  night. 

The  winds  were  now  hushed  into  a  calm,  the  snow  had 
ceased  to  fall,  and  the  stars  shone  out  in  all  their  brilliancy 
and  splendour.  In  the  little  square  in  front  of  the  inn,  the 
members  of  the  Club  bade  each  other  an  affectionate  adieu, 
with  many  good  and  heart-felt  wishes  for  their  future 
welfare;  and  with  another  warm  shake  of  the  hand,  they 
reluctantly  separated,  and  went  on  their  several  ways  home- 
wards—a raven  in  his  flight  over  them  ominously  whispering 
in  the  air — 

"  When  Will  These  Five  Meet  Again  ? " 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


ST  orland's  stone. 


**  Sweet  the  hum 
Of  bees,  the  voice  of  girls,  the  song  of  birds, 
The  lisp  of  children,  and  their  earliest  words. 

.    And  dear  the  schoolboy  spot 
We  ne'er  forget,  though  there  we  are  forgot. 
But  sweeter  still,  than  this,  than  these,  than  all, 
Is  first  and  passionate  love— it  stands  alone, 
Like  Adam's  recollection  of  his  fall. " 

Byron, 

Besides  the  ancient  obelisk  already  noticed  in  the  Legend  of 
the  Murder  of  Malcolm  II.,  in  1034,  there  is  another  obelisk 
of  more  elaborate  design  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the 
manse  at  Glamis.  The  former — although  Malcolm  was 
actually  buried  at  lona — ^may  probably  mark  the  spot  where, 
tradition  saith,  the  King  fell,  and  the  latter  may  have  been 
erected  to  his  memory.  This  supposition  is  strengthened  by 
the  symbolical  figures  represented  on  the  stone  at  the  manse 
— two  men  in  the  apparent  attitude  of  forming  some  secret 
conspiracy,  with  a  lion  and  a  centaur  overhead,  exhibiting 
the  bloody  nature  of  the  crime ;  the  several  kinds  of  fishes 
engraven  on  the  reverse  of  the  monument  representing  the 
loch  in  which  the  assassins  were  drowned. 

St  Orland's  Stone  stands  about  a  mile  north-east  of  the 
castle  of  Glamis,  near  the  small  hamlet  of  Gossins.  With  all 
due  deference  to  those  who  have  supposed  that  this  obelisk  is 
also  a  memorial  of  the  murdered  King,  I  am  of  opinion  that 
it  was  erected  at  a  period  long  antecedent  to  the  death  of 
Malcolm  II.,  and  records,  in  consequence,  a  totally  different 


ST.  orland's  stone.  141 

event,  or  events.  Indeed,  the  flowered  cross  so  rudely  yet 
sharply  chiselled  on  this  stone  classifies  it,  in  my  humble 
judgment,  with  the  less-known  sculptured  stone  that  stands 
near  to  the  old  church  at  Eassie,  or  the  more  celebrated  pillars 
at  Meigle  and  Aberlemno.  If  this  view  be  the  correct  one,  it 
would  necessarily  fix  the  date  of  erection  some  time  between 
the  seventh  and  ninth  centuries.  It  was  early  in  the  fifth 
century,  when  the  Eomans  abandoned  Britain,  that  the 
inhabitants  of  the  south  of  Scotland  were  converted  to 
Christianity  ;  but  those  in  the  north  did  not  embrace  it  until 
the  close  of  the  sixth  or  the  beginning  of  the  seventh 
century.  The  pillars  with  crosses  and  other  Christian  sym- 
bols engraven  on  them  must  therefore  have  been  erected  sub- 
sequent to  the  conversion  of  the  inhabitants  to  Christianity, 
and  before  the  close  of  the  Pictish  period  of  843. 

A  monumental  pillar  was  called  in  the  olden  time  "  Amad," 
a  Hebrew  word  signifying  the  lips  or  words  of  the  people, 
meaning  thereby  that  the  people  of  former  ages  spoke  through 
those  symbolic  pictures  to  the  generations  that  came  after 
them.  Hence  the  popular  traditions  transmitted  to  posterity 
in  connection  with  these  **  Speaking  Stones,"  such  as  that 
they  called  out  when  a  dead  body  was  placed  upon  them,  or 
contradicted  a  person  who  swore  falsely  by  them — common 
tradition,  indeed,  regarding  them  as  once  animated  beings. 

Commencing  with  the  mystic  and  fabulous  ages  of  remote 
antiquity,  the  traditions  of  Strathmore  existed  in  scarcely  less 
strength  and  influence  in  the  popular  superstitions  of  the  last 
or  even  in  the  beginning  of  the  present  century.  Death 
lights,  warnings,  second  sights,  mysterious  forebodings  of  evil; 
not  to  speak  of  ghosts,  hobgoblins,  brownies,  and  fairies,  were 
just  as  veritably  believed  in  by  our  fathers  and  grandfathers 
of  the  Howe  as  they  were  by  their  rude  progenitors  of  any 
former  age. 

The  popular  tradition  connected  with  St  Orland's  Stone 
was  that,  either  by  speech  or  sign  from  itself,  or  inward 
response  felt  by  those  who  invoked  its  aid,  the  events  of  the 


142  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

fature  were  prophetically  revealed.  Maidens,  therefore, 
repaired  to  its  hallowed  shrine  at  the  midnight's  'witching  hour 
to  consult  the  holy  oracle  as  to  their  future  destiny;  and 
loyers  plighted,  with  bated  breath,  their  solemn  troth,  and 
vowed  to  heaven  their  unchanged  and  unchangeable  love. 

Mary  Armstrong,  the  butler's  daughter,  was  as  pretty  and 
coquettish  a  blonde  as  there  was  in  all  the  Howe  of  Strath- 
more.  Her  dress,  though  plain,  as  became  her  station,  was 
always  neat  and  becoming,  and  the  simple  drapery  so  artfully 
arranged  that  her  graceful  and  handsome  figure  was  always 
displayed  to  the  best  advantage.  No  one,  however,  of  even 
ordinary  perception  but  could  detect  in  the  pouting  lip  and 
roguish  eye  the  confirmed  trifler,  and  coquettish  Love,  accord- 
ing to  the  ordinary  acceptation  of  his  infirmities,  being 
*' blind,"  could  not  in  consequence  perceive  these  flagrant 
defects  in  her  character ;  and  so  her  numerous  and  ardent 
wooers  went  round  and  round  the  charmed  circle  in  which  she 
moved  as  if  drawn  unresistingly  by  the  potent  magnet  of 
her  magical  influence. 

This  hollow  device  could  not,  however,  last  long,  for, 
although  the  jilted  seldom  confess  their  discomfiture  in  words, 
yet  their  dejected  appearance  betrays  their  chagrin,  and  their 
actions  evince  either  their  disappointment  or  passive  disgust. 
Misfortunes,  it  is  said,  make  one  acquainted  with  strange  bed- 
fellows ;  and  so  it  turned  out  in  this  case.  The  powerful 
loadstone  of  sympathy  had,  from  the  same  cause,  mysteriously 
attracted  two  apparently  very  opposite  characters  together. 

The  miller's  son  had  been  an  enthusiastic  and  constant 
wooer  of  the  butler's  daughter ;  but  he,  in  his  turn,  had  been 
cruelly  cast  ofl"  by  the  versatile  maiden,  when  she  became 
tired  of  his  importunate  addresses.  Thereafter  her  cap  was 
set  to  catch  higher  game,  and  her  aflections,  such  as  they 
were,  without  the  least  hesitation  or  compunction,  were 
immediately  transferred  to  the  eldest  son  of  the  worthy 
minister — an  equally  ardent  admirer  of  Mary,  whose  reign 
over  her  heart,  however,  comprehended  even  a  briefer  space 


ST.  ORLAND'S  STONE.  143 

than  that  enjoyed  by  his  more  lowly,  yet  not  less  passionate 
and  persistent  rival. 

The  two  cast-off  wooers  having  accidentally  met  one  autumn 
evening  at  the  Market  Muir,  they  proceeded  homewards  to 
the  village  together. 

"You  seem  very  dull  to-day,  Jamie,"  said  the  minister's 
son,  after  the  two  friends  had  walked  a  considerable  distance 
in  company,  without  exchanging  any  words,  except  the  mere 
formal  compliments  of  the  day.  "  What  is  the  matter  with 
you,  my  man  1    You  are  not  like  yourself  at  all,  Jamie." 

"  I  think  there's  a  pair  o'  us."  replied  Jamie.  "  You 
havena  spoken  a  word  yoursel,'  Maister  Alfred,  for  the  last 
twenty  minutes.  This  is  no  your  usual  way — you  are  sae 
hearty  and  cheerfu'  wi'  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor." 

"When  did  you  see  the  butler's  daughter?"  quietly  re- 
joined Alfred,  unheeding  the  remarks  regarding  himself. 

"  No  for  some  time,''  said  Jamie,  blushing.  "  Fan  did  ye 
see  her  yerseP,  Maister  Alfred?  It's  said  you  are  the 
favourite  noo  in  that  quarter;  but,  depend  upon  it,  she'll 
jilt  you  some  o'  these  days  in  as  cruel  a  manner  as " 

"  She  has  jilted  you,"  interrupted  Alfred.  "  The  fact  is, 
Jamie,"  he  continued,  "  we  are  two  great  fools  to  be  imposed 
upon  as  we  have  been  by  such  a  gay,  giddy,  heartless  imp ; 
and  I  am  resolved — firmly  resolved  to  be  revenged,"  con- 
cluded Alfred,  in  a  semi-comic,  theatrical  manner,  his  voice 
rising  ominously  at  the  same  time  several  octaves  above  its 
natural  compass. 

"  Fat's  that  you  say,  Maister  Alfred  ? "  quickly  replied  his 
companion.  "You're  no  to  bring  the  lassie  to  ony  harm, 
surely  ?  Wranged  me  sair  as  she  has  dune,  I  widna  allow  a 
single  hair  o'  her  head  to  be  touched  wi'  ill  intent,  if  I  could 
help  it,  for,  to  tell  the  honest  truth,  Maister  Alfred  "  — w%)ing 
at  the  same  time  away  with  his  sleeve  the  tale-telling  tear 
that  was  gathering— "I  hae  a  soft  place  in  my  heart  for 
Mary  yet." 

"  You  have  quite  mistaken  my  meaning,"  said  Alfred, 


144  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

half-laughing  at  the  comical  appearance  assumed  by  his 
partner  in  distress.  "  I  would  not  lift  a  finger  to  injure  her 
personally.  The  revenge  I  spoke  of  is  of  a  different  kind. 
Instead  of  harm,  I  wish  the  maiden,  good,  Jamie,  and  stiU 
have  my  revenge  in  a  way  you  wot  not  of.*' 

The  ice  being  now  fairly  broken,  like  ships  in  distress, 
they  sympathetically  bore  away  to  the  nearest  friendly  port 
for  the  necessary  repairs  to  enable  them  to  continue  their 
voyage.  During  their  cruise  homewards,  Alfred  confided  to 
his  shipwrecked  ally  a  scheme  he  had  deliberately  formed 
with  the  object,  at  the  same  time,  to  avenge  their  mutual 
wrongs,  and  to  bring  about  the  reformation  of  the  offending 
maiden — ^the  well-known  and  confessed  cause  of  all  their  mis- 
fortunes. The  scheme  partook  somewhat  of  those  practical 
yet  questionable  frolics  indulged  in  by  Alfred  and  his  fellow- 
students  at  the  University  of  St  Andrews ;  but  as  the  parties 
most  interested  in  carrying  out  its  execution  were  perfectly- 
satisfied  of  its  capabilities  to  ensure  success,  it  is  ceitainly  no 
business  of  ours  to  question  its  propriety. 

Alfred  was  not  long  in  meeting  Mary  Armstrong,  and  as 
she  did  not  in  reality  wish  to  cast  eventually  off  such  a 
coveted  prize  as  the  minister's  son,  she  willingly  permitted 
Alfred  to  accompany  her  home.  During  their  walk  to  the 
Castle,  Alfred,  pretending  to  forget  his  defeat,  like  a  skilful 
general  endeavoured  to  make  the  most  of  his  present  oppor- 
tunity, and  began  the  siege  anew.  With  this  view,  he 
renewed  his  "rejected  addresses" — skilfully  cautious,  how- 
ever, not  to  betray  himself  by  promises  he  really  never  meant 
to  fulfil.  The  consequence  was  that  Mary,  still  coy  and 
coquettish  as  her  wont,  was  cleverly  drawn  by  Alfred  into 
making  a  solemn  promise  to  refer  the  matter  of  her  destiny 
to  the  oracle  at  St  Orland's  Stone. 

Jamie,  having  been  duly  apprised  of  the  engagement,  lay 
down,  with  some  trepidation  and  misgiving,  in  a  neighbour- 
ing hollow  on  the  appointed  night,  to  await  the  mysterious 
issue,  while  Alfred  busied  himself  in  covering  the  Stone  with 


ST.  ORLAND*S  STONE.  145 

a  large  linen  sheet,  seating  himself,  when  he  had  draped  it 
in  white,  on  the  side  of  the  pillar  opposite  to  that  by  which 
the  maiden  would  approach  the  Stone. 

It  was  a  gusty,  moonlight  night,  at  the  witching  hour 
when  spirits  haunt  the  air,  and  demons  roam  abroad  on  the 
earth.  The  Queen  of  Night  rode  ominously  on  her  silver 
chariot  in  a  troubled  and  changing  sky,  and  the  fitful  winds 
chimed  sad  and  mournfully  among  the  leafless  trees.  Mary 
had  almost  approached  the  stone  unobserved  by  the  watchers, 
when  the  moon,  suddenly  bursting  through  a  black,  driving 
cloud,  disclosed  her  beautiful  form  in  the  suppliant  attitude 
of  a  devout  worshipper,  solemnly  invoking  the  assistance  and 
presence  of  the  Oracle  of  St  Orland.  Awaiting  the  expected 
response,  she  wistfully  raised  her  eyes,  when,  instead  of  the 
well-known  sculptured  pillar,  she  wildly  shrieked  on  behold- 
ing what  to  her  excited  iroaginatiop,  appeared  to  be  a 
denizen  in  reality  of  the  other  world.  Her  fears  of  the 
future  augmented,  as  a  hoarse,  unearthly  voice  prophetically 
exclaimed — **  Beware  !  Beware  I  Beware  ! " 

This  warning  of  the  Oracle  might  doubtless  be  interpreted 
in  many  ways,  according  to  the  phase  of  thought  indulged  in, 
or  the  complexion  of  retrospective  feeling  passing  through 
the  mind  at  the  time.  Though  equally  superstitious  as  her 
compeers,  Mary  Armstrong,  with  all  her  thoughtless  frivolity, 
being  of  a  practical  turn  of  mind,  applied,  after  due  reflection, 
the  prophetic  warning,  not  only  personally  to  herself,  but  to 
that  particular  besetting  sin  which  she  now  remorsefully  felt 
had  hitherto  characterised  her  restless  and  unsettled  life. 

As  Alfred  had  anticipated,  the  happy  result  was  that  the 
butler's  daughter  became  a  staid  and  reflective  maiden,  and 
in  a  short  time  was  comfortably  married  to  the  douce,  swarthy 
smith  of  the  village,  to  whom  she  proved  a  contented,  faith- 
ful, and  affectionate  wife. 

Jamie,  although  he  never  forgot  his  first  love,  in  course  of 
time  became  the  industrious  and  cheerful  tenant  of  the  '*  auld 
meal  mill,''  and  Alfred  gradually  attained  by  his  learning  and 


146  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

genius  to  the  very  highest  place  among  the  celebrated 
preachers  of  the  day.  To  their  sound  judgment  and  delicacy 
of  feeling  be  it  further  recorded  to  their  credit  that  not 
until  after  the  death  of  Mary,  did  they  disclose  the  story  of 
the  white  sheet  on  St  Orland's  Stone,  or  reveal  the  author 
of  that  terrible  yet  well-meant  warning  which  changed  in  a 
moment  her  whole  character,  and  turned  into  another  channel 
the  wayward  current  of  her  existence. 

Although  the  tailler  apparently  seemed  resigned  to  his 
fate,  and  went  about  his  ordinary  business  so  diligently  that 
everything  went  well  and  prosperously  with  him,  still  there 
was  an  under-current  of  unrest  beneath  the  calm  unruffled 
surface  above,  a  deep-seated,  corroding  grief,  which,  unknown 
to  the  world,  exercised  over  his  mind  a  painful,  yet  pleasing 
influence,  solemnising,  if  not  uaddening,  every  action  of  his 
otherwise  uneventful,  life.  This  was  his  never-changing, 
undying  affection  for  his  first  love.  So  true  is  it  in  real  life, 
in  every  rank  and  station,  whatever  cold,  unfeeling  men  of 
the  world  may  assert  to  the  contrary,  that  true  heart  love 
never  knows  decay.  Circumstances  may  intervene  to  pre- 
vent the  visible  union  of  two  loving,  devoted  hearts,  but 
they  will  ever  remain  united  in  reality  all  the  same.  Other 
family  ties  may  be  formed,  and  the  duties  of  husband  and 
wife,  father  and  mother,  religiously,  nay,  affectionately  dis- 
charged, but  the  old  old  feeling  is  still  there,  not,  I  verily 
believe,  for  the  purpose  of  disquieting  and  making  unhappy 
— God  never  intended  that — but  rather  to  hallow  and 
temper  the  bursting  exuberance  of  domestic  joys. 

There  is  this  difference,  however,  between  love  as  a  passion, 
and  love  as  a  deep-rooted  feeling  of  the  heart,  that  whereas 
the  former  may  change  to  hatred,  the  latter — never !  Every 
good  and  loving  wish  surrounds  the  object  of  a  first  affection, 
these  wishes  culminating  in  the  fervent  hope  that  wedded 
love  may  be  ever  happy,  the  children  rising  up  to  call  their 
parents  blessed. 

The  miller  had  a  fine  ear  for  music,  and  was  an  excellent 


ST.  ORLAND*S  STONE.  147 

player  on  the  violin,  but  after  this,  his  first  and  greatest 
disappointment  in  life,  he  hung  his  harp  upon  the  willows, 
where  it  ever  afterwards  remained  uncared  for  and  unstrung. 
He  also  sung  well,  but  now  his  musical  powers  were  concen- 
trated on  one  solitary  song.  Not  that  he  ever  audibly  sung 
this  song,  but  mentally  brooded  over  it  through  life.  Not 
only  did  its  melody  come  spontaneously  and  unbidden  when 
he  feverishly  awoke  at  early  morn,  and  when  he  gently  fell 
asleep  at  eventide,  but  without  interfering  with  his  ordinary 
avocations,  it  constantly  occupied 'his  thoughts,  whether  in 
the  workshop,  at  market,  or  in  the  field,  in  the  solitary  lane, 
or  in  the  crowded  city.  Time,  instead  of  blunting  the  fine 
edge  of  this  pristine  feeling,  only  deepened  and  intensified 
its  pleasing  sadness  ;  and,  like  the  wounded  dove  which 
instinctively  covers  with  its  fluttering  wings  the  poisoned 
arrow  which  is  slowly  doing  its  deadly  work,  so  the  poor 
deserted  lover  hugged  the  more  tenderly  and  to  the  la«t,  the 
fatal  shaft  which  surely,  though  unseen,  was  gradually 
draining  to  the  last  dregs  the  ebbing  stream  of  life : — 

Early  Love. 

Dear  early  love  t  these  beauteous  scenes 

No  charms  have  now  for  me, 
How  cruel  thus  to  break  the  tie 

That  bound  my  soul  to  thee. 

0  how  I  loved  with  thee  to  roam 

By  woodland,  stream,  and  bower, 
And  whisper  all  my  inmost  thoughts 

With  hope's  electric  power  ! 

How  soft  on  golden  wings  was  borne 

The  wild-flower's  rich  perfume, 
As  glad  we  roamed  o'er  hazel  braes, 

Fringed  bright  with  yellow  broom  1 

How  sweetly  blushed  the  dewy  rose, 

How  glad  the  linnets  sang, 
When  with  thy  thrilling,  silvery  strains, 

The  gr^nwood  echoes  rang  ! 

And  when  at  evening's  twilight  hour, 

Thee  to  my  heart  I  prest, 
We  wept,  we  vowed,  0  !  surely  then, 

Were  we  supremely  blest  I 


BTRATHHORB  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 


And  I'm  no  locger  thins, 
Not  heaven  itwlf  will  disi^proTe 
A  love  10  pure  u  mine. 

0  1  bid  mo  not  than  e'er  forget 

Thoee  hours  of  rapturous  joy. 
When  free  from  c&re  I  roamed  with  tbea, 

The  blithBome  artless  boy. 
For,  Oh  I  this  heart  can  DSTer  oeaae 

To  beat,  first  lave,  for  thea, 
Hy  lore  can  nuier  die  though  thoa 

Hast  torn  thyself  from  me. 

Lore,  deep,  eternal,  changslees  Iot*, 

Will  not  thui  cast  away, 
When  firm  imphmted  in  the  breast. 
It  never  knows  decay  I 
Another  incident  in  connection  with  St  Orland's  Stone, 
occurred  a  short  time  afterwards. 

Helen  Lindsay,  the  younger  daughter  of  a  well-to-do 
crofter  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  Cosains,  was  as 
pretty  a  brunette,  as  Mary  Armstrong  had  heen  a  beautiful 
and  fascinating  blonde.  There  was  this  difference  in  their 
character  and  feelings,  however,  that,  whereas  the  latter  was 
Tolatile  and  changeable,  the  former  was  unswerving  and 
constant  in  her  love.  Yet  with  all  this  fixity  and  steadiness 
of  purpose,  strange  to  say  in  one  remarkable  instance  she 
proved  herself  at  fault. 

Amongst  her  numerous  admirers  in  the  Strath,  the  most 

prominent  by  common  consent  were  the  young  carpenter  of 

the    village,   and   the   elder   son   of  the    (^ed    farmer  of 

Drumgley.     Either,  irrespective  of  their  excellent  character, 

and  good  looks,  would  in  point  of  social  position  have  been  a 

most    suitable    and    eligible    match   for   the   rich   crofter's 

^-"-^'■•i.     It  so  happened,  however,  that  tlie  young  maiden's 

?as   equally  divided   between   the   two   lovers.     This 

rd  state  of  her  feelings  she  frankly  and  unequivocally 

1  to  both,  affirming  at  the  same  time  that  she  would 

i  happy  and  contented  with  either  of  them. 


ST.  ORLAND'S  STONE.  149 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  A  busy  cleansing  out  of  old  horse- 
pistols,  and  an  anxious  furbishing  up  of  rustj  claymores  of 
course.  Nothing  of  the  kind.  The  mill-wright  and  the 
fanner  were  men  of  common  sense,  with  cool  heads,  and 
unexciteable  feelings  withaL  At  a  mutual  and  amicable 
conference  it  was  solemnly  agreed  that  the  choice  of  the 
maiden  should  be  referred  simpliciter  to  the  Oracle  of  St 
Orland*s  Stone.  A  certain  night  was  accordingly  fixed  when 
Helen  and  her  two  lovers  were  to  appear  in  company  at  the 
shrine  of  the  Oracle,  whose  decision  was  to  be  received  as 
final  The  only  other  condition  attached  to  the  compact  was, 
as  it  turned  out  to  be,  a  very  necessary  and  important  one. 
The  proviso  was  this  : — In  the  event  of  either  of  the  lovers 
not  putting  in  appearance  at  the  time  appointed,  the  compact 
to  be  held  as  irrevocably  dissolved,  and  the  one  who  fulfilled 
his  promise,  to  be  declared  the  accepted  suitor  of  Mary 
Armstrong. 

It  so  happened  that  the  honest  millwright  received  intel- 
ligence on  the  following  day  of  the  sudden  death  of  an  old 
friend,  and  an  invitation  to  attend  his  funeral.  The  day  of 
the  interment  was  the  same  as  that  on  the  evening  of  which 
it  had  been  agreed  to  meet  at  St  Orland's  Stone.  Not  in 
the  least  doubting  but  that  he  would  be  quite  able  to  keep 
both  appointments,  especially  as  the  interment  was  to  take 
place  at  Glamis,  and  anxiously  desirous  to  pay  his  last 
respects  to  the  remains  of  his  friend,  he  started  early  for  the 
Murroes,  where  his  friend  had  died,  to  attend  his  funeral. 

It  was  the  universal  custom  then,  as  1  know  from  experi- 
ence it  still  is,  that  the  friends  and  acquaintances  of  the 
deceased  who  attended  these  country  funerals  came  from 
great  distances,  and  necessarily  required,  as  they  liberally 
received,  a  bountiful  supply  of  all  kinds  of  substantial  viands 
and  native  liquors.  It  is  just  possible  that  sometimes  there 
may  have  been  an  excess  of  the  latter  over  the  former.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  the  funeral  procession  started  at  last  on  its 
road  to  Glamis.    There  being  no  hearse  in  the  parish,  the 


150  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

remaiDs  of  the  deceased  were  put  into  a  cart,  and  the  coffin 
carefully  covered  over  with  the  ancient  and  well-worn 
mortcloth.  Amidst  the  sobs  and  tears  of  sorrowing  women, 
and  heart-felt  sighs  of  aged,  grey-haired  men,  the  lowly, 
unpretending  funeral  car  proceeded  slowly  on  its  rugged  and 
circuitous  route. 

As  the  irregular  and  highly  characteristic  procession 
moved  on  by  the  dark  woods  of  Ballumbie,  the  attendants 
gradually  dropped  off  until  at  Powrie  Brae,  where  the  road 
joins  the  Forfar  highway,  the  number  had  been  gradually 
reduced  to  about  a  dozen  of  the  stronger  and  younger  men — 
including,  of  course,  our  good  friend  the  millwright.  On 
and  on,  amidst  the  sweltering  heat,  they  slowly  toiled,  until 
they  had  reached  the  well-known  divergence  of  the  road  at 
Tealing — that  to  the  left  leading  to  Glamis  by  Lumleyden, 
and  that  to  the  right  to  Forfar  by  Fotheringhame.  The 
weather  being  excessively  warm,  and  feeling  fatigued  by 
their  long  journey,  they  unanimously  agreed  to  adjourn  to 
the  then  way-side  inn  for  refreshment,  leaving  the  cart  with 
the  corpse  in  a  recess  a  little  way  off  from  the  junction  of 
the  three  roads. 

Bicker  followed  bicker,  and  stoup  followed  stoup,  until 
the  extent  of  their  potations  began  gradually,  yet  visibly, 
to  tell  both  upon  their  physical  and  mental  condition.  One 
thing  was  quite  certain — it  was  now  far  on  in  the  afternoon, 
and  that  they  took  no  note  of  time,  whatever  reckoning  they 
kept  of  their  cups.  Ail  at  once,  like  a  flash  of  lightning, 
the  startling  remembrance  of  the  important  meeting  that 
evening  at  St  Orland's  Stone,  which  was  to  decide  irrevoc- 
ably his  future  destiny,  penetrated  the  half-muddled,  alarmed 
brain  of  the  conscience-stricken  millwright,  who,  rising  in  a 
moment  from  his  seat,  declared  he  would  drink  no  more, 
and  firmly  insisted  that  they  should  immediately  proceed  to 
^he  place  of  interment. 

From  the  authoritative  and  determined  manner  of  the 
speaker,  his  companions  saw  at  once  the  futility  of  resistance ; 


ST.  ORLAND*S  STONE.  151 

80,  sabmitting  with  the  best  grace  they  could,  they,  in  a  some- 
what unbecomingly  irregular  manner,  proceeded  to  the  spot 
where  they  had  left  the  cart  with  the  corpse. 

What  was  their  unutterable  surprise  and  amazement  when 
neither  cart,  nor  horse,  nor  corpse  was  to  be  seen  !  In  vain 
they  eagerly  searched  every  cranny,  shed,  and  outhouse — the 
cart,  with  its  precious  contents,  was  nowhere  to  be  found ! 

In  their  present  plight  of  dreamy  half-unconsciousness,  it 
would  have  been  certainly  unexpectedly  remarkable  if  they 
had  satisfactorily  solved  the  mysterious  enigma.  So,  without 
attempting  any  rational  or  logical  solution — feeling,  doubtless, 
their  utter  incapacity  for  so  doing — they  jumped  at  once  to  the 
conclusion,  that  as  their  dead  friend  was  "  no  very  canny " 
while  he  lived,  the  Devil  had  taken  the  body  to  himself  when 
he  died. 

"But  the  De'il,  if  he  had  wished  to  tak'  him  to  himseF," 
said  one  of  the  most  thoughtful  of  the  group,  "  could  hae  dune 
that  without  plaguing  us  takin'  him  a'  this  length." 

"  Besides,"  said  another,  "  he  needna  ta'en  the  cart  and  the 
horse,  although  he  micht  hae  ta'en  the  corp.  He*s  nae  use  for 
the  cart,  and  as  for  the  bit  beastie,  it  never  did  him  ony 
harm,  I*m  sure. " 

These  acute  and  sensible  remarks  might,  if  followed  up, 
have  led  to  some  feasible,  if  not  satisfactory  solution  of  the 
circumstance ;  but  the  general  opinion  decidedly  being  that  no 
explanation  could  by  any  possibility  prevail  other  than  that 
already  given,  and  not  being  otherwise  in  the  mood  for 
weighing  seeming  probabilities  and  drawing  logical  deductions, 
they  turned  their  faces  homewards. 

What  was  the  poor  millwright  to  do  1  To  go  on  to  Glamis 
and  meet  the  company  invited  there,  without  the  body  of  the 
deceased,  would,  he  reasoned,  be  simply  a  mockery.  His 
safest  course,  he  concluded,  would  be  to  follow  the  multitude, 
whether  to  good  or  evil.  Accordingly  he  joined  issue  with 
his  fellow  mourners,  and  moodily  proceeded  with  them  on 
the  road  he  had  come,  not  knowing  what  might  betide  them 


152  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

on  the  w&j,  or  what  would  be  the  result  at  their  journey's 
end. 

As  may  be  supposed,  their  heads  became  somewhat  clearer 
as  they  proceeded.  Still  no  other  feasible  explanation  pre- 
sented itself  to  their  minds  than  that  the  Evil  One  was  tlie 
dreaded  cause  of  the  dire  catastrophe,  and  the  millwright, 
fully  as  superstitious  as  themselves,  not  being  able  either  to 
solve  the  mystery  or  propound  any  rational  interpretation,  the 
matter  became  a  settled  point  without  any  further  contro- 
versy. 

They  at  last  reached  the  point  from  whence  they  had 
started.  Judge  of  their  amazement  when' on  entering  the 
courtyard  of  the  farm  they  stumbled  upon  the  veritable  cart 
and  horse  of  their  dead  friend,  with  the  coffin  and  mortcloth 
untouched  where  they  had  been  so  solemnly  laid  in  the 
morning!  The  simple  fact  was,  that  while  they  cared 
for  their  own  creature  comforts,  they  had  forgotten  to  provide 
any  provender  for  the  horse,  and  the  poor  beastie,  after  wait- 
ing a  reasonable  time,  and  doubtless  feeling  aggrieved  by  their 
neglect,  quietly  turned  its  head  homewards  in  search  of  more 
hospitable  quarters ! 

It  is  easy  to  haloo  when  one  is  out  of  the  wood,  and  to 
become  courageous  when  the  danger  is  past ;  and  so  in  this 
case  it  ludicrously  turned  out. 

"  The  horse  and  cart,  with  the  coffin,"  'twas  naively  said, 
"  were  left  where  three  roads  met.  The  horse  could  not 
have  been  expected  to  take  either  the  one  to  Forfar  or  that 
to  Glamis,  for  the  simple  reason  that  the  beastie  had  never 
been  there  at  all." 

"  Of  course  not,"  chimed  in,  interruptedly,  another  wise- 
acre Qf  the  group,  "  and  therefore  the  sensible  animal  took 
the  road  homewards,  which  it  knew." 

The  whole  affair  having  been  thus  satisfactorily  settled  to 
their  own  entire  satisfaction,  and  having  arranged  for  the 
interrupted  funeral  to  take  place  on  the  morrow,  they  ad- 
journed in  a  body  to  the  farmhouse,  to  join  the  female 


ST.  ORLAND'S  STONB.  153 

relations  and  acquaintances  of  the  deceased,  who  had  assem- 
bled to  drink  tea  on  their  departure,  and  who  were  all  in  total 
ignorance  of  the  ludicrous  mishap  which  had  taken  place. 

What  occurred  on  the  evening  of  that  eventful  day  beside 
St.  Orland's  Stone  may  be  more  easily  imagined  than  de- 
scribed. A  merry  wedding  took  place  shortly  afterwards  in 
the  Howe  when  Helen  Lindsay  and  young  Drumgley  were 
united  in  the  holy  bonds  of  matrimonial  love.  The  mill- 
wright, though  suffering  acutely  under  his  sore  disappoint- 
ment, had  the  good  sense  to  accept  the  kindly-sent  invitation 
to  the  marriage ;  but  no  allusion,  we  may  rest  assured,  was 
made  on  the  festive  occasion  either  to  the  unlucky  funeral,  or 
to  the  equally  unfortunate  tryst  at  St  Orland's  Stone  ! 


i 

r 


« 
^ 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE  ULY  OF  THE  VALE. 


"  Gone  are  the  heads  of  the  silvery  hair 
•  And  the  young  that  were  have  a  brow  of  care , 

And  the  place  is  hush'd  where  the  children  play'd, 
Nought  looks  the  same  save  the  nest  we  made. " 

Mrs  HemoM. 

Than  the  Milton,  there  was  not  a  pleasanter,  cozier,  or 
happier  homestead  in  all  the  wide  valley  of  Strathmore.  It  has 
seen  many  changes,  however,  since  the  time  of  which  I  write. 
None  the  least  of  these  was  its  change  of  tenancy,  when 
Arthur  Cargill  bade  it  forever  farewell — when  he  left  with  his 
household  to  seek  a  new  home  in  the  backwoods  of  Canada. 

The  broad  acres  of  the  Milton,  although  not  uniformly  of 
the  same  high  quality,  never  failed  to  yield  a  rich  and  profit- 
able return  to  the  practical  agriculturist  who  farmed  it  so 
scientifically,  and  so  well ;  for  Arthur  Cargill  was  accounted 
amongst  his  compeers  as  the  best  educated  and  foremost  tiller 
of  the  soil  in  his  day.  To  this  home  he  had  brought  his 
blushing  and  happy  bride,  the  eldest  daughter  of  a  neighbour- 
ing farmer  in  the  Howe,  who  had  in  every  respect  proved 
a  worthy  and  willing  helpmate  to  him  in  all  the  vicissitudes 
of  his  joys  and  sorrows. 

In  course  of  time  seven  lovely  boys  were  born  to  him,  who 
grew  up  in  quiet  beauty  like  so  many  olive  plants  around  his 
hospitable  and  happy  hearth.  Still  the  measure  of  his  earthly 
hapt)iness  was  not  yet  full,  for  both  he  and  Mary,  his  wife, 
yearned  in  secret  for  a  girl,  to  crown,  as  with  a  diadem  of 
glory,  their  connubial  bliss.  The  eighth  addition  to  the 
family  circle  was  now  expected ;  and  when  the  child  was  bom 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALE.  165 

the  jojrfiil  news  was  heard  that  the  young  stranger  was  really 
and  in  very  deed — a  lassie. 

All  things  continued  to  thrive  with  the  worthy  farmer,  un- 
til the  Milton  became  the  very  beau  ideal  of  a  Scottish  home- 
stead in  the  nineteenth  century.  His  well-reared  cattle 
browsed  on  the  fruitful  plains  around ;  his  numerous  flocks 
of  sheep  fed  on  the  rich  haughs  and  meadows,  or  whitened 
with  their  fleecy  brightness  the  neighbouring  Sidlaw  Hills ; 
while  his  merry  reapers  among  the  golden  harvest  fields  sung 
in  the  blithest  strains  the  songs  of  contentment  and  peace. 

A  decade  of  years  had  now  rapidly  passed  away  since  the 
birth  of  Arthur's  daughter,  and  Jeanie  CargilFs  charms  were 
gradually  bursting  into  the  full  matured  bloom  of  womanhood. 
She  was  a  model  type  of  the  true  Scotch  beauty,  with  this 
exception — that,  while  she  had  in  perfection  the  aquiline, 
delicately-cut  features  >  the  soft,  blue,  dreamy  eyes ;  the  ring- 
lets of  golden  yellow,  and  the  silvery  voice  of  ringing  sweet- 
ness, her  cheeks  had  not  the  blushing  richness  of  the  rose,  but 
the  pale  and  subdued,  though  lovely  hue  of  the  lily.  Hence, 
by  general  consent,  she  was  endearingly  known  throughout 
Strathmore  as  the  "  Lily  of  the  vale." 

But  she  had  other  and  higher  cliarms  than  these.  Her  mind 
was  richly  endowed,  not  only  with  the  more  solid  acquirements 
of  a  liberal  education,  but  with  all  that  was  amiable  in  disposi- 
tion, gentle  in  spirit,  beautiful  and  true  in  heart.  Her  man- 
ners were  as  void  of  affectation  as  her  actions  were  destitute 
of  interested  motives.  Thoroughly  unselfish  in  her  nature, 
she  wished  all  with  whom  she  came  into  contact  to  share  the 
common  joys  and  mental  pleasures  she  experienced  herself. 
A  halo  of  goodness  and  beauty  encompassing  her  wherever  she 
went,  she  was  indeed  the  charm  and  delight  of  her  rural 
home,  the  sunshine  and  joy  of  the  lovely  strath  in  which  she 
dwelt. 

Admirers  of  every  station  she  had  many.  The  bashful 
swain  and  the  purse-proud  squire,  alike  assiduously  strove  to 
win  her  regards,  and  bask  in  her  smiles.    To  one  only  had 


156  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

she  given  any  encouragement.  This  was  Percy  Guthrie,  son 
and  heir  to  the  rich  and  worthy  farmer  of  Scroggerfield,  and 
one  in  every  respect  worthy  of  such  a  maiden's  love. 

Percy  and  Jeanie  had  attended  Kinnettles  parish  school 
together,  and  had,  unconsciously,  become  warmly  attached 
to  each  other  from  their  youth  upwards.  Many  a  happy 
ramble  they  had  had  in  the  sylvan  woods  of  Brigton,  and 
along  the  rich  haughs  and  meadows  that  fringe  with  emerald 
beauty  the  banks  of  t.he  swift-ruuning  Kerbet  Hand-in- 
hand  would  they  joyously  wander  on ;  now  stopping  their 
march  for  a  brief  moment  to  listen  to  the  merry  songs  of 
the  happy  birds,  or  to  pull  a  primrose  or  gowan  from  the 
lovely  greensward  on  which  they  trod ;  anon  to  watch  the 
speckled  trout  and  gambolling  minnow,  as  they  sported  in 
their  own  wild  joy  in  the  shady  pools  of  the  beautiful  river ; 
or  to  pat  with  affectionate  gentleness,  the  pretty  heads  of 
the  new-bom  lambs,  as  they  quietly  lay  in  some  flowery 
hollow,  basking  in  safety  their  brief  hours  of  happiness  in 
the  sultry  rays  of  the  summer's  sun. 

In  going  or  returning  by  the  bonny  hedges  of  Brigton  to 
Kinnettles  ''wee  school,"  while  his  other  schoolmates  were 
roystering  away  in  their  joyous  mirth,  and  roughly  indulging 
in  practical  jokes  at  his  expense,  Percy  was  ever  silently  by 
the  side  of  Jeanie  Cargill ;  not  that  without  his  guardianship 
she  would  ever  receive  insult  or  come  to  harm,  but  feeling 
intuitively  it  was  not  only  his  duty,  but  his  right  to  stand 
between  her  and  all  danger,  imaginary  or  otherwise. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  while  returning  from  school, 
and  when  Percy  had  become  a  stout  lad  of  fourteen,  the 
practical  joking  had,  in  his  estimation,  taken  such  an 
offensive  turn,  that,  purposely  walking  on  with  Jeanie  before 
his  schoolmates,  at  a  quicker  pace  than  was  his  wont,  he 
abruptly  bade  her  adieu  as  she  entered  Douglastown,  and, 
returning  the  way  he  had  come,  bent  on  avenging  the  insult 
he  imagined  he  had  received,  he  met  in  proud  defiance  his 
roystering  schoolmates,  and  challenging  any  one  of  them  to 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALE.  157 

single  combat  to  settle  the  quarrel,  calmly  awaited  their 
decision. 

Great  was  the  consternation  in  the  enemy's  camp,  and,  a 
council  of  war  having  been  held,  it  was  wisely  determined 
that  the  biggest  boy  in  the  group  should  be  selected  as  their 
champion.  Now,  the  biggest  boy — Davie  Gray — was  a 
veritable  big  boy  indeed,  and,  as  far  as  size  and  strength 
were  concerned,  shewed  a  marked  contrast  to  the  slender 
stnpling  with  whom  he  was  to  measure  his  martial  prowess. 
Although  Davie  afterwards  became  an  esteemed  minister  in 
a  rural  parish  not  far  from  his  native  Howe,  his  appearance 
at  this  time  was  far  from  being  clerical  or  prepossessing. 
Stalwart  and  swarthy,  big-boned,  and  long-legged ;  with  a 
great  black,  bushy,  burly  head,  surmounted  by  a  very  small 
Glengarry  bonnet;  a  pair  of  piercing  black  eyes,  and  a 
Eoman  beak,  as  bent  and  sharp  as  that  of  a  hawk;  with 
hodden  grey  clothes  by  far  too  small  for  the  growing  body 
they  encased,  and  great  tackety,  home-made  brogues,  as 
heavy  as  a  ploughshare,  the  figure  presented  by  the  embryo 
minister  was  anything  but  savouring  of  the  manse. 

"  Tak'  aff  your  coat,  Davie — tak'  aff  your  coat,"  cried  the 
excited  urchins,  eager  for  the  fray  ;  "  ye  canna  feicht  wi'  your 
coat  on,  man,"  forming  a  wide  living  ring,  at  the  same  time, 
round  the  expected  combatants,  just  in  front  of  the  gateway 
leading  to  the  home  farm  of  Brigton. 

Percy's  jacket  was  off  in  an  instant,  which  act  Davie  per- 
ceiving with  the  tail  of  his  eye,  obliged  him  to  follow  suit, 
and  to  appear  at  least  courageous,  although,  if  the  truth  must 
be  told,  the  little  coui;^e  he  had  was  now  beginning,  like 
that  of  another  personage  in  similar  circumstances,  to  ooze 
out  rather  quickly  from  his  finger  ends. 

"  Tak'  your  time,  my  lad,"  Davie  growled  at  length  ;  "  Til 
be  at  you  in  a  jiffey."  But,  somehow  or  other,  Davie's 
homespun  coat  would  not  be  persuaded  to  come  off  even, 
with  the  zealous  assistance  of  several  boys,  who,  after  many 
fruitless  attempts  at  co-operation,  gave  it  up  in  despair,  not, 


158  STRATHMORE:  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

however,   without    quietly  insinuating    that    "Davie    was 
naething  but  a  cooW." 

"  Davie*s  feart,"  cried  the  other  boys  in  the  ring.  "  Davie's 
feart,  and  winna  feight." 

"  Fa  says  I'm  feart  1 "  wildly  shouted  Davie,  now  fairly 
put  upon  his  mettle;  and,  casting  his  hitherto  unyielding 
coat  from  him  with  the  utmost  ease,  he  again  defiantly 
exclaimed,  '^  Fa  says  I'm  fear't  1 "  at  the  same  time  somewhat 
retreating  from,  rather  than  advancing  to  meet  the  foe. 

Something  again  had  evidently  gone  wrong,  and  the  more 
eager  of  the  group  of  boys  surrounded  their  champion  in  the 
utmost  consternation.  Still  Davie  showed  no  signs  of 
immediate  action,  far  less  any  intention  of  dying  game. 

"  Come  awa'  hame,"  said  a  little  fellow,  more  observant 
than  the  others.  "  Lat  him  pech,  and  pech  awa' ;  he's  feart 
I  tell  ye,  and  winna  feight." 

**  Fa  says  I'm  feart  and  winna  feicht  ? "  for  the  third  time 
roared  the  valiant  Davie,  brandishing  his  brawny  arms  in  the 
air,  and  rushing  headlong  into  the  ring,  as  if  to  annihilate 
at  one  fell  swoop  his  brave,  yet  comparatively  puny  antagon- 
ist. Percy,  to  avoid  the  apparently  coming  blow,  dexterously 
stepped  aside  to  prevent  the  awful  consequences  thereof, 
when  his  ferocious  antagonist,  by  the  sheer  force  of  the 
impetus  he  had  given  himself,  went  bounding  like  a  Jove- 
shot  thunderbolt  to  the  other  side  of  the  road,  where, 
tripped  by  an  unfriendly  boulder,  over  and  over  again  he 
rolled,  until,  amidst  the  jeers  and  laughter  of  all,  he  sprawled 
and  floundered  in  the  miry  ditch ! 

While  the  preparations  for  the  fight  were  going  forward, 
and  unknown  to  his  schoolmates,  a  little  spy  in  the  camp  had 
quietly  slipped  away  to  Kinnettles,  and  informed  the  worthy 
schoolmaster  of  the  expected  battle,  exaggerating,  doubtless, 
every  little  detail,  and  extending  the  affair  into  the  largest 
dimensions  he  possibly  could.  Scarcely  had  the  untoward 
event  above  referred  to  occurred,  when  "Daniel"  was 
descried  in  the  distance  half-walking,   half-running,   to  the 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALE.  159 

scene  of  action.  When  he  reached  the  battle-field,  the  boys 
had  just  managed  to  drag  the  almost  inert  body  of  Davie  to 
the  middle  of  the  road,  when,  mistaking  the  red  clay  with 
which  he  was  bespattered  for  veritable  human  blood,  and 
interpreting  his  silence  as  the  silence  of  death,  the  stricken 
schoolmaster  piteously  exclaimed — 

"  My  laddies  !  Oh  !  what's  this  youVe  dune  ]  Killed  poor 
Davie  Gray !  Wha's  brain  planned  the  plot  1  Wha's  hand 
did  the  deed  ?  Wae's  me !  that  I  should  hae  lived  to  see 
this  day !  Ane  o'  my  ain  laddies  murdered — killed  by  ane 
o*  my  ane  bairns  ! " 

To  the  surprise  and  delight  of  the  grey-haired,  weeping 
schoolmaster,  Davie  slowly  rose  to  his  feet,  and  after  Daniel 
had  fully  satisfied  and  convinced  himself  of  the  reality 
of  his  existence,  Davie  explained  in  a  few  words  the  begin- 
ning and  the  ending  of  the  laughable  fracaSy  right  generously 
exonerating  Percy  Guthrie  from  all  blame  in  his  ludicrous 
discomfiture. 

Grateful  for  the  happy  turn  events  had  so  unexpectedly 
taken,  and  overjoyed  at  the  safety  of  his  "  laddies,"  Daniel 
made  Percy  and  Davie  join  their  willing  hands  in  forgiving 
brotherhood  together ;  gave  them  all  his  parting  benediction, 
and  returned  to  his  home  in  Kinnettles  with  a  firmer  step 
and  a  lighter  heart  than  he  had  left  it  on  his  errand  of 
justice  and  mercy. 

The  practical  result  of  the  evening's  encounter  was,  that 
Percy  Guthrie  had  never  afterwards  reason  to  complain  of 
taunt  or  jeer  while  he  continued  the  acknowledged  and 
admitted  guardian  of  Jeanie  Cargill. 

The  time  had  now  arrived  when  Jeanie  had  either  to  be 
sent  to  a  boarding-school  to  finish  her  education,  or  learn 
the  higher  branches  from  a  governess  at  home.  Unwilling 
to  deprive  themselves  of  the  society  of  their  beloved  daughter, 
Jeanie's  father  and  mother  wisely  decided  on  the  latter  course, 
and  the  eldest  daughter  of  a  city  clergyman  was,  after  due  in- 
quiry, selected  as  the  future  instructress  of  the  young  maiden. 


160  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

By  natural  ability,  and  dint  of  patient  industry,  Percy 
Guthrie  had  also  exhausted  the  intellectual  resources  of  the 
parish  school,  so  that  it  became  absolutely  necessary  to  send 
him  to  some  seminary  of  eminence,  to  complete  the  education 
so  well  and  profitably  begun  by  Daniel  Robertson.  The  far- 
famed  Academy  of  Montrose  was  deemed  the  most  eligible 
for  this  purpose,  and  the  day  was  fixed  for  Percy's  departure 
for  that  ancient  and  still  renowned  seat  of  learning. 

It  was  a  chill,  gusty  afternoon  in  th6  latter  end  of  October, 
when,  at  the  "skailing"  of  the  school,  Percy  and  Jeanie, 
instead  of  going  home  as  usual  by  the  hedgerows  of  Brigton, 
walked  unconsciously  along  by  the  banks  of  the  Kerbet,  in 
the  direction  of  the  pretty  bridge  which  spans  the  river  at 
Douglastown.  The  autumn  winds  were  sighing  in  mournful 
cadence  among  the  overshadowing  groves,  and  the  dry 
withered  leaves  of  the  forest  trees  were  falling  in  plentiful 
showers  upon  the  still  verdant  meadows,  or  circling  in 
rustling  eddies  in  the  partially  sheltered  holms  and  hollows 
of  the  glen.  No  sound  of  joy  or  gladness  intermingled  with 
the  sad,  funereal  obsequies  of  expiring  Nature,  save  the 
measured  and  mournful  ripplings  of  the  swift-flowing  river,  as 
it  rushed  unceasingly  on  its  winding,  circuitous  route  to  the 
far  distant  sea. 

Wandering  silently  on,  they  reached  at  last  the  extremity 
of  the  wood,  when  Jeanie,  in  faint  and  tremulous  tones, 
strange  and  altogether  new  to  her,  bade,  almost  inarticulately, 
her  attached  companion  "  Good-bye, "  and  moved  reluctantly 
away  from  his  presence. 

"  Not  yet, "  kindly  said  Percy.  "  Not  yet,  Jeanie,"  taking 
hold  of  her  willing  hand  as  he  spoke,  and  gazing  tenderly  in 
her  soft  blue,  speaking  eyes,  which  instinctively  returned  his 
rapturous  gaze,  though  scarcely  comprehending  its  full,  yet 
partially  hidden  import. 

"This  is  our  last  night  at  school  together,"  rejoined  Percy, 
'*and  I  feel  so  sad,  so  very  sad.  Do  you  also  feel  sad^ 
Jeanie?" 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALE.  161 


€t 


I  feel,"  said  Jeanie — "but  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  feel, 
Percjy"  raising  her  eyes  again  in  youthful  innocence,  as  if 
fondly  seeking  for  a  solution  of  the  strange  enigma. 

"We  will  meet  again,  Jeanie  1"  Percy  hesitatingly  and 
inquiringly  replied ;  and  while  her  hand,  trembling  in  his, 
sent  by  its  gentle  touch  a  new,  luxurious  glow  throughout  his 
sympathetic  frame,  kindling  at  the  same  time  a  strange, 
indefinable  joy  in  her  own,  he  took  and  she  returned — the 
first  kiss  of  Love  ? 

The.  first  kiss  of  love !  Dearly  as  Percy  loved,  he  little 
knew  how  tenderly,  how  deeply  he  was  loved  in  return. 
That  night  his  affianced  bride  on  laying  her  lovely  head  on 
the  snowy  pillow  of  her  couch  of  innocence,  thus  gave  ex- 
pression to  her  feelings  of 

Best,  Levi,  Jot. 

0,  joyful  aoandB  t  xnethinkB  I  hear 

▲n  angel  softly  siiiging, 
Heave  not  that  sigh,  dry  up  that  tear, 

Faith,  hope  to  me  are  olinging. 
And  far  above  yon  golden  oloud. 

In  melifluous  harmony, 
Celestial  notes  break  swelling  loud, 

How  glorious  the  symphony  1 
Best,  love,  joy  1  sweet  sounds  divine  t 
Dwell  within  this  heart  of  mine. 

Now  oalm,  serene  in  tranquil  re^t, 

While  my  heart-strings  fondly  quiver, 
I  lean  upon  my  lover's  breast, 

By  the  moon-lit  flowing  river. 
And  0 1  his  words  to  me,  how  sweet  I 

The  silvery  beams  soft  streaming. 
With  dew-drops  bright  on  my  fairy  feet, 

I  lie  and  muse  half -dreaming. 
Beet,  love,  joy  1  sweet  notes  divine  ! 
Dwell  within  this  heart  of  mine. 

Deep  in  my  rapt  entranced  sonl, 

And  nought  from  me  ooncealing. 
My  loved  one's  strains  in  music  roU, 

Eztatio  joy  revealing. 

L 


162  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Meet  for  immortal  tuneful  ears, 

These  sweetest  sounds  are  ringing, 
No  sorrow,  pain,  no  sighs,  no  tears, 
When  my  love  to  me  is  singing. 
Best,  love,  joy  i  sweet  sounds  diyine  1 
Dwell  within  this  heart  of  mine. 

Sing  on,  my  love,  that  joyous  strain. 

Throned  in  my  mind  for  ever. 
Its  echoes  thrill  my  heart  again. 

Forget  it  ?    O,  no, — never  ! 
Again,  again  at  eventide, 

The  witching  tones  shall  quiver 
My  raptured  soul  with  thee  beside, 

By  the  moon-lit  flowing  river. 
Rest,  love,  joy  !  sweet  sounds  divine  1 
Dwell  within  this  heart  of  mine. 

While  Percy  and  Jeanie  were  pursuing  apart  their  respec- 
tive studies  to  fit  them  for  the  duties  and  business  of  life,  dark 
and  dreary  clouds  of  misfortune  were  gathering  slowly  yet 
surely  around  the  hitherto  prosperous  and  happy  Milton.  At 
the  time  of  which  I  write,  the  larger  class  of  farmers  were 
extensive  dealers  in  horses  as  well  as  stock — ^the  horse-couping, 
indeed,  in  most  instances,  forming  by  far  the  largest  share  of 
their  multifarious  transactions.  Arthur  Cargill,  irrespective  of 
his  acknowledged  merits  bjs  a  farmer  and  agriculturist,  had  also 
the  reputation  of  being  the  most  extensive  and  successful 
horse-dealer  in  the  district. 

Prudent  and  far-seeing  in  everything  he  undertook,  it  was 
unaccountably  strange  how  he  allowed  himself  to  become 
imprudent  even  in  one  transaction.  Yet  so,  alas !  it  was.  A 
reputed  wealthy  farmer  and  horse-dealer  in  the  south  had 
made  several  very  heavy  purchases  of  cattle  and  horses  in 
succession,  and  meeting  Mr  Cargill,  to  whom  he  was  in- 
timately known,  in  Trinity  Muir  market,  where  to  his  know- 
ledge he  had  completed  his  immense  transactions  for  the  time, 
he  persuaded  his  friend  to  become  security  for  the  amount,  on 
the  understanding  that  the  profits  of  the  sales  were  to  be 
equally  divided  between  them. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALE.  163 

Scorning  to  benefit  by  what  he  deemed  at  the  time  an  un- 
due advantage  in  the  circumstances,  Arthur  generously  and 
unconditionally  came  at  once  to  the  rescue  of  his  friend,  in 
whom  he  placed  the  most  unbounded  confidence,  subscribed 
the  bond,  and  went  home  congratulating  himself  on  having 
done  a  highly  praiseworthy  act  in  furtherance  of  the  interests 
of  such  a  deserving  friend. 

Alas !  scarcely  had  a  month  run  its  rapid  course  when  the 
unexpected  intelligence  spread  rapidly  over  the  Strath  that 
the  great  southern  dealer  had  been  gazetted  a  bankrupt !  The 
blow  fell  with  crushing  eff*ect  on  the  head  and  heart  of  Arthur 
CargiU,  the  more  so  that  in  his  pride  he  unwisely  determined 
to  keep  the  circumstances  of  the  bond  a  secret,  at  least  for  a 
time,  from  his  wife  and  family. 

Time  wore  on,  and  Arthur  CargiU  might  have  recovered 
himself,  even  from  the  eff'ect  of  such  a  heavy  loss ;  but  his 
concealment  of  the  fact  from  those  who,  of  all  others,  should 
have  been  the  first  to  know  of  it,  ground  him,  soul  and  body, 
to  the  very  earth ;  so  that  gradually,  by  inattention  and  want 
of  proper  supervision  on  his  part,  his  affairs  were  hopelessly 
drifting  into  confusion  and  insolvency.  Even  yet,  had  he 
taken  counsel  with  his  own  household,  and  steadily  and 
bravely  looked  his  affairs  in  the  face,  the  impending  ruin  of 
his  fortunes  might  have  been  prevented. 

How  sad  the  consequences  often  of  a  First  False  Step! 
And  these  the  hitherto  happy  household  of  Milton  were  now 
doomed  to  feel  in  their  utmost  severity  and  rigour.  Loss 
followed  loss — crash  followed  crash — until  the  bitter  end  was 
reached.  And  a  bitter  end,  in  every  sense  of  the  term,  it  was  ! 
Misfortunes,  proverbially,  seldom  come  alone ;  but  here  they 
burst  in  such  quick  succession  that,  triumphing  in  the  miserable 
wreck  they  had  made,  they  left  not  a  single  oasis  in  the  desert 
on  which  the  eye  or  foot  could  rest  in  peace. 

Assuredly  I  have  no  heart  to  dwell  on  the  desolate,  heart- 
rending picture.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  ruin  was  so  com- 
plete that  Arthur  Cargill  determined,  in  something  like  his 


164  STRATHMOBE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

manly  spirit  and  heroic  energy  of  old,  to  retrieve  his  fallen 
fortunes  by  seeking  a  new  home  in  the  far  West,  where,  by 
his  own  exertions  and  those  of  his  attached  and  numerous 
family,  he  might  regain  in  another  land  the  position  he  had 
lost  in  this. 

And  how  did  Jeanie  Cargill,  the  far-famed  "  Lily  of  the 
Vale"  deport  herself  under  this  change  of  circumstances? 
Educated  to  the  highest  degree  in  the  pure  and  sunny  atmos- 
phere of  home,  she  united  to  the  more  showy  accomplishments 
of  the  day,  the  fixed  principles  of  religious  rectitude  and  truth, 
and  these,  acting  in  happy  combination  with  a  well  regulated 
mind  and  a  warm  and  generous  human  heart,  bore  her 
triumphantly  over  a  succession  of  trials  and  withering  disap- 
pointments which  would  have  crushed  and  blighted  for  ever  a 
spirit  less  prepared  effectually  to  resist  their  terrible  conse- 
quences. 

"Are  you  aware,  Jeanie,"  quietly  said  her  father,  one 
summer's  eve,  as  they  were  both  seated  in  the  shady  arbour  of 
their  little  garden,  "that  I  have  at  last  fully  made  up  my 
mind  to  seek  a  new  home  in  the  far  West  1" 

Jeanie  dropt  in  an  instant  the  needlework  on  which  she  had 
been  engaged,  and,  gazing  on  her  father'^  sad  and  sorrowful 
countenance,  sofbly  replied,  while  the  big  tears  were  gathering 
in  her  troubled  eyes,  **  Why  should  you,  dear  father,  determine 
on  leaving  your  native  land  9  Is  it  really  necessary  that  you 
should  do  sof  Nursed  though  I  have  been  in  the  lap  of 
luxury,  every  advantage  of  birth,  position,  and  education  will  I 
willingly  and  cheerfully,  for  your  sake,  resign,  and  with  a  brave 
heart  perform  the  duties  which  our  change  of  circumstances  now 
necessarily  and  imperatively  demand,  assured  that  all  our  sor- 
rows and  trials  will  be  sanctified  and  blessed  to  us  in  the  end." 

"I  could  endure  anjrthing,"  quickly  rejoined  her  father; 
"  loss  of  wealth,  loss  of  health,  loss  of  caste — oh  I  everything 
in  the  shape  of  trials,  afflictions,  scorn,  and  contumely  could 
I  willingly  and  resignedly  endure ;  but  there  is  one  thing  to 
which  I  can  never  submit." 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALE.  166 

• 

"  What  ia  that,  father  1"  intemiptingly  said  Jeanie. 
"To  be  an  object  of  pity,"  replied  her  father,  in  scornful 
accents,  quite  foreign  to  his  nature.  ''Men  may  hate  me; 
men  may  despise  me ;  men  may  turn  their  heel  against  me, 
passing  by  in  their  pride  on  the  other  side ;  but  as  for  pity,  I 
will  have  none  of  it.  No,  Jeanie ;  amidst  the  wreck  and  ruin 
there  is  still  left  to  me  the  unchanged  and  unchangeable  love 
of  your  mother ;  and  this,  combined  with  my  own  firm  deter- 
mination to  retrieve  my  fallen  fortunes,  and  the  reverential 
affection  and  indomitable  industry  of  my  seven  manly  boys, 
will  achieve,  under  God,  the  ultimate  success  at  which  I  aim, 
though  that  success  will  be  realised  in  another  land  than 
this." 

''  But,  my  dear  father,"  said  Jeanie,  her  voice  trembling,  and 
her  bosom  heaving  with  the  deepest  emotion,  ''amidst  the 
desolating  wreck  and  ruin  has  there  not  also  nobly  survived  a 
daoghter^s  dutiful  obedience  and  undying  love  V* 

"  True,  true,  dear  Jeanie,"  quickly  replied  her  father ;  "  I 
am  just  coming  to  that.  Listen,  my  daughter — Percy  Guthrie 
has  just  confided  to  myself  and  your  mother  his  prospects  in 
life,  and  the  devoted  affection  he  bears  to  you ;  and,  without 
in  plain  terms  saying  so,  hinted,  if  I  have  not  mistaken  his 
meaning,  that,  as  in  the  course  of  nature  he  would  succeed  his 
father  as  tenant  of  Scroggerfield,  it  might  be  better  that  a 
certain  member  of  the  family  were  not  exposed  to  the  perilous 
dangers  of  the  sea,  but  remain" — 

"  Enough,  my  father,"  said  Jeanie,  interrupting  him  before 
he  could  finish  the  sentence ;  "  the  wish  must,  in  this  instance, 
have  been  with  you  father  to  the  thought,  for  Percy  Guthrie 
would  never,  never  demand  from  any  one  such  a  heavy — such 
a  cruel  sacrifice." 

She  rose,  and  taking  her  father's  arm,  they  proceeded  slowly 
and  silently  through  the  garden  to  the  house  together.  When 
they  had  reached  the  ivied  porch,  Jeanie  could  contain  her 
pent-np  feelings  no  longer,  and,  throwing  her  arms  around  her 
father's  neck,  she  tearfully  and  passionately  exclaimed — 


166  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

"  No,  my  dear  father,  we  cannot  be  parted,  at  least  for  the 
present  'Whither  thou  goest,  I  will  go;  and  where  thou 
lodgest,  I  will  lodge ;  thy  people  shall  be  my  people,  and  thy 
God  my  God.' " 

The  harvest  moon  profusely  shed  her  silvery  radiance  over 
the  bonnie  woods  of  Brigton,  when,  at  the  accustomed  place, 
Jeanie  Cargill  and  Percy  Guthrie  met,  for  the  last  time. 
Along  the  haughs,  and  by  the  banks  of  their  much-loved 
Kerbet,  arm  in  arm  the  two  lovers  wandered,  their  hearts  too 
big  for  words,  their  eyes  too  full  for  tears.  At  last,  they  in- 
stinctively stood  in  silence  beneath  the  far-spreading  branches 
of  a  venerable  elm,  the  rustling  bronze-tinted  leaves  falling 
thickly,  as  they  did  at  their  first  parting,  in  melancholy  cadence 
all  around ;  the  autumn  winds  in  dirge-like  music  low  chant- 
ing measured  requiems  of  moaning  sadness  for  the  unforgotten 
dead,  and  the  stately  flowing  river  subduedly  singing  on  with 
greater  solemnity  of  tone  than  its  wont  the  well-known  and 
never-to-be-forgotten  evening  hymn. 

Jeanie,  in  all  the  flush  and  bloom  of  womanly  beauty,  was 
still,  in  every  respect,  the  "Lily  of  the  Vale."  Percy,  to  a  highly 
intelligent,  richly  cultivated,  and  well-balanced  mind,  added 
aU  the  charms  of  a  graceful  person,  and  the  winning  endear- 
ments of  refined  and  gentlemanly  manners.  Standing  in  the 
clear  moonlight,  beneath  the  sheltering  branches  of  the  friendly 
elm,  with  his  fine  Boman  features,  ruddy  complexion,  and 
clustering  ringlets  of  darkest  brown,  he  presented  a  type  of 
beauty  the  very  opposite  to  that  of  the  delicate  and  gentle 

"  Lily." 

"  This  is  our  last  meeting,  Jeanie/'  softly,  at  last,  said  Percy, 
tenderly  taking  her  willing  hand  in  his,  and  gazing  on  her 
beautiful  countenance,  now  dreamily  lighted  up  by  the 
unclouded  radiance  of  the  harvest  moon  into  more  than  its 
usiial  spiritual,  indescribable  loveliness. 

"  I  trust  not,  Percy,"  Jeanie  gently  replied  ;  "and  yet — but 
I  must  not  make  you  sad — I  have  a  strange  presentiment  that 
it  may,  alas  I  be  our  last  meeting." 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALE.  167 

"  You  mean,  dearest  Jeanie/'  Percy  rejoined,  *'  that  this  may 
be  oar  last  meeting  until  I  rejoin  you  in  your  new  home  V* 

**  No,  that  is  not  my  meaning,  Percy ;  you  may  probably 
know  by  and  by." 

"  You  have  seen  a  wraith  or  heard  a  warning  ? "  tremblingly 
enquired  Percy. 

"  Yestreen,"  Jeanie  quietly  replied,  "  I  stood  on  my 
favourite  knoll  at  the  Milton,  admiring  the  gorgeous  sunset  on 
the  western  hills.  The  sun  had  just  disappeared  in  all  his 
regal  magnificence,  the  saffron  and  purple  clouds,  golden  and 
silver-Mnged,  suffusing  their  expiring  radiance  over  the 
Howe,  when  a  bright  fleecy  cloudlet  in  the  midst  assumed  to 
my  wondering  gaze  the  vividly  life-like  form  of  a  white-robed 
saint  reclining  calmly  as  on  a  couch  of  down,  and  borne 
mysteriously  away  by  what  seemed  the  white-crested  waves 
of  a  tempestuous  sea.  Then  a  dark  murky  cloud  suddenly 
obscured  my  vision,  and  although  far  away  from  it  I  distinctly 
heard  the  distant  moaning  of  the  ocean,  and  the  dashing 
crushing  sound  of  its  angry  billows  as  if  they  swept  the  reeling 
deck  of  some  tempest-tost  ship  in  the  mid  sea-way  of  the 
mighty  Atlantic. — You  have  seen  my  father]" 

"I  have,"  said  Percy,  blushingly;  "and  he  and  your 
mother  most  heartily  approve  of  our  betrothal,  Jeanie ;  and, 
were  it  not  for  the  strength  of  that  dutiful  love  which  I  know 
you  bear  to  your  parents,  I  would  have  given  fuU  expression  to 
the  wishes  of  my  heart — that  you  would  not  expose  yourself 
to  the  perilous  dangers  of  a  sea  voyage  at  this  season  of  the 
year,  but  at  once  become  my  bride  and  wedded  wife.  Strong, 
pure,  and  unchangeable  though  my  love  for  you  be,  I  felt  that, 
under  the  circumstances  I  could  not  ask  from  you  such  a 
heavy  sacrifice,  especially  as  my  proposals  to  this  end  might 
admit  of  being  misconstrued,  and  motives  be  attributed  to 
me  the  very  opposite  of  those  which  in  reality  regulated  my 
conduct.     Do  you  understand  me,  Jeanie  ?  *' 

"  I  understand  you  perfectly,"  Jeanie  replied,  "  Your  un- 
selfish and  noble  resolution  only  the  more  deeply  confirms 


168  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

the  high  estimation  I  have  ever  formed  of  your  character,  and 
of  the  sterling  qualities  of  your  mind  and  heart,  Percy." 

"  That  is  rather  a  cold  way  of  putting  it,  is  it  not  Jeanie  1 " 
said  Percy  inquiringly. 

'^But  you  know  my  meaning,  and  you  can  put  it  in  any 
shape  or  form  you  like.  I  am  sure  I  will  agree  with  you, 
Percy,  if  so  be  you  are  satisfied  yourself." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  know  that,"  Percy  quickly  replied.  "  I  am  so 
glad  you  approve  of  my  plans,  as  your  father  also,  doubtless, 
will  do  when  he  sees  them  in  their  proper  light.  Twelve- 
months hence,  then,  dearest  Jeanie,  I  will  cross  the  seas  and 
rejoin  you  in  the  country  of  your  father's  adoption. 
Consulting  the  happiness  and  comfort  of  her,  the  dearest  to 
me  on  earth,  I  will  be  guided,  Jeanie,  then  entirely  by  your 
wishes,  and  either  bring  you  to  the  'Howe,'  my  loving, 
wedded  wife,  or  remain  in  the  backwoods,  your  guardian  and 
protector  for  life." 

"  Noble  Percy ! "  said  Jeanie  :  "  the  more  I  know  you, 
the  more  I  esteem  you  and — " 

"  Love  me,"  quickly  interrupted  Percy ;  and  the  two  lovers 
were  locked  in  each  other's  embrace,  in  all  the  blissful  enjoy- 
ment of  true,  pure,  unchangeable  love ! 

A  few  minutes  more,  and  they  had  parted — ^their  low- 
breathed  farewell  sympathetically  blending  with  the  mournful 
ripplings  of  the  moon-lit  river,  which  had  striven  in  vain  to 
calm  its  heaving,  troubled  bosom,  or  to  sing  itself  to  sweet 
and  peaceful  rest. 

As  I  am  not  writing  a  work  of  fiction,  but  of  fact,  I  may 
be  allowed  to  remark,  en  passant,  especially  for  the  benefit  of  my 
fair  readers,  that  neither  in  the  parting  scene  between  the  two 
lovers,  narrated  above,  nor  in  any  of  their  previous  interviews, 
is  there  any  breakings  of  pieces  of  silver  or  gold,  exactings  of 
promises,  declarations  of  constancy,  or  vowings  before  high 
heaven  to  fulfil  extorted  engagements,  or  suffer  the  most 
condign  punishments  both  in  this  world  and  the  next,  if  they 
failed  to  fulfil  their  high-flown  promises  or  impious  vow& 


> 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALE.  1 69 

No ;  their  attachment  to  each  other  was  of  a  nature  so  pure, 
undoabtiDg,  and  true,  that  it  required  no  unhallowed  artificial 
support  to  nurse  its  growth  or  promote  its  after-existence. 

With  aU  your  raving  tows  away. 

Your  lispiog  speechee  bland  ; 
Give  me  the  language  of  the  eye, 

The  preaBure  of  the  hand. 

Their  last  day  at  the  Milton  had  now  arrived,  and  the 
stricken,  yet  undismayed  household  were  early  astir  to  complete 
the  preparations  for  their  long  and  perilous  journey.  Jeanie 
went  out,  unobserved,  by  the  garden  gate,  and,  ascending  a 
little  broomy  knowe  where  she  could  see  at  a  glance  the  whole 
of  her  much-loved  and  beautiful  Howe,  she  thus,  in  plaintive 
accents,  sung  her  last  farewell : — 

The  '  Lilt's  '  Farewell. 

Farewell,  my  own  sweet  Highland  glen, 

Away  from  thee  I  roam ; 
Afar  from  scenes  and  haunts  of  men 

I  seek  a  distant  home. 

No  more  I'll  see  thy  bonnie  broom, 

Thy  daisies  on  the  lea, 
Nor  yet  the  waving  blue-bell's  bloom 

Beneath  the  greenwood  tree. 

No  more  I'll  hear  the  lav'rock's  strains, 

Breathed  sweet  at  early  mom, 
Nor,  ringing  glad  the  happy  plains. 

The  linnet  on  the  thorn. 

No  more  I'll  hear  the  blackbird's  song 

At  evening's  silent  hour ; 
Nor  yet  the  thrush  the  notes  prolong, 

In  woodland  leafy  bower. 

No  more  shaU  children's  voices  cheer, 

When  they  sing  merrilie  ; 
Nor  shepherds  charm  my  raptured  ear, 

When  they  pipe  bonnilie. 

But  though  afar  from  thee  I  roam, 

No  more  my  glen  to  see, 
Hy  heart  will  bless  my  Highland  home. 

My  thoughts  shall  be  of  thee. 


170  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

And  though  the  billows  sWIft  may  bear 

The  ship  across  the  sea^ 
And  balmy  gales  may  waft  despair, 

My  heart  shall  beat  for  thee. 

And  when  afar  from  haunts  of  men, 

My  future  home  I  see, 
Oh  I  then,  my  own  sweet  Highland  glen. 

My  heart  shall  turn  to  thee  I 

The  good  ship  Lady  Kianaird,  weU-manned  and  found,  sailed 
from  Dundee  to  New  York  in  the  autumn  of  1837.  The  vessel 
had  been  a  week  at  sea.  The  weather  coirtinued  agreeable 
and  pleasant,  and  everything  tended  to  strengthen  the  hope 
and  belief  that  the  sorrowing  emigrants  would  make  a  rapid 
and  successful  voyage.  It  was  a  beautiful  afternoon,  the  sun 
shining  in  all  his  splendour,  cresting  with  sparkling  silver  the 
gently  undulating  billows,  and  diffusing  throughout  the  mind 
a  tranquil  feeling  of  serenity  and  peace.  With  pardonable 
pride  the  merry-hearted  crew  leant  over  the  sides  of  their 
noble  barque,  admiring  the  unprecedented  speed  with  which 
she  bravely  cleaved  for  herself  a  triumphant  highway  over  the 
apparently  shoreless  deep. 

Enjoying  the  beauty  and  calm  tranquillity  of  the  scene, 
Arthur  Cargill,  with  his  wife  and  daughter,  and  seven  manly 
boys,  were  standing  a  thoughtful,  yet  picturesque  group,  on 
the  large  and  roomy  deck,  listening  in  deep  earnestness  to  the 
sweet,  soft  voice  of  Jeanie,  as  in  gentle  and  tender  accents 
she  pictured  to  them  their  distant  home  in  the  far  West, 
where,  by  steady,  united,  persevering  industry,  health,  peace, 
and  plenty  might  yet  be  their  blest  and  happy  destiny. 

They  were  now  joined  by  a  young  lady  who,  with  her 
family,  had  also  emigrated  from  Strathmore.  Jeanie  put  her 
arm  into  that  of  her  friend,  and  after  pacing  the  deck  in  lov- 
ing converse  for  a  few  minutes  together,  Jeanie  complained 
that  the  strange,  undulating  motion  of  the  ship  still  continued 
to  cause  that  swimming  giddiness  in  her  head  which  had  so 
much  pained  and  discouraged  her  from  the  commencement  of 
the  voyage.    By  her  friend's  advice  they  retired  to  their  little 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALE.  171 

* 

cabin  on  the  poop,  and  hastily  undressing,  she  lay  down  to 
seek  repose  and  rest  on  her  fragile,  yet  airy  couch. 

"  Lizzie,"  said  Jeanie,  addressing  her  friend,  "  no  sooner  is 
my  aching  head  laid  upon  this  friendly  pillow  than  I  get 
better.  Head  to  me,  dear  Lizzie,  my  favourite  Paraphrase, 
beginning  with — 

*'  Take  comfort,  Christians,  when  your  friends 
In  Jesus  fall  asleep  ; 
Their  better  being  never  ends  ; 
Why,  then,  dejected  weep  ? " 

Her  sympathising  companion,  taking  out  the  time-honoured 
"Ha'  Bible"  from  amongst  the  few  household  gods  which 
they  had  been  able  to  save  from  the  wreck  and  ruin  of  their 
Scottish  home,  commenced  softly  to  read  the  plaintively 
beautiful  fifty-third  Paraphrase  as  requested  so  beseechingly 
by  her  dear  and  much- loved  friend. 

A  great  and  rapid  change  had  now  come  over  the  peaceful 
scene.  Dark  thunder-charged  clouds  lowered  ominously  in 
the  changing,  murky  sky ;  alternate  fitful  gusts  piped  harsh 
and  shrill  among  the  flapping  sails  and  creaking  shrouds ;  a 
long,  black,  troublous  ripple  broke  over  the  rolling,  threaten- 
ing waves ;  and  a  heavy,  far-stretching,  scowling  swell  struck 
swiftly  with  giant  strength  against  the  reeling  ship.  Wave 
followed  wave,  and  fiercer  grew  the  elemental  war,  until  the 
mountain  billows  broke  at  last  with  thundering  crash  over  the 
unprotected  deck,  sweeping  the  fragile  poop-cabin  and  one 
of  its  saintly  inmates  into  the  dark  and  troubled  sea ! 

There — swiftly  borne  away  upon  the  angry  waves — still 
lying  resigned  upon  her  little  bed,  with  her  hands  firm  clasped 
across  her  breast,  and  her  dreamy  eyes  upraised  to  heaven,  is 
Jeanie  Cargill,  the  **Lily  of  the  Vale,"  like  a  white-robed 
angel,  peaceful  amidst  the  storm,  calm  hastening  on  to  her 
eternal  rest ! 

The  sad  and  startling  news  came  upon  Percy  Guthrie  with 
the  most  crushing  and  overwhelming  effect.  Becovering  after 
a  time  from  the  shock,  he  betrayed  no  unmanly  or  sentimental 


174  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

When  I  last  sat  by  the  well — now  a  good  many  years  ago 
— ^I  thought  I  had  never  till  then  so  fully  realised  the 
touching  sentiment  of  the  beautifully  expressive  line — 

'*  How  still  and  peaceful  is  the  grave  ! " 

All  was  so  silent,  so  solemn,  and  the  woodland  surroundings 
so  appropriate  to  the  quiet  resting-places  of  the  dead !  A 
grey  linnet  perched  itself  on  the  overhanging  boughs  immedi- 
ately above  where  I  musingly  sat,  and  chanted  very  sweetly 
its  summer  song ;  but  not  being  joined  by  any  other  of  the 
songsters  of  the  grove,  and  not  wishing  to  intrude,  as  I 
imagined,  on  my  then  overwhelming  grief,  it  soon  ceased  its 
flute-like  warblings,  and  flew  quickly  away  across  the  bum 
to  the  waving  woodland  beyond — 

Birdie  1  hie  thee  on  thy  way, 

Fill  up  thy  time  of  gladness, 
Hebeafteb  bringeth  not  to  thee 

Aught  e'er  of  joy  or  gladness. 

Merrily  revel  in  thy  joy. 

Each  bursting  joyous  morrow, 
Nor  come  thou  near  my  breaking  heart 

To  drink  its  bitter  sorrow. 

Ornamental  cemeteries  are  new  and  not  unimposing 
features  in  our  Scottish  landscape.  Is  it  not  to  be  feared, 
however,  that,  while  these  statued  burying-grounds  give  full 
scope  for  the  display  of  taste,  they  may  at  the  same  time 
serve  gradually  to  uproot  the  reverential  and  solemn  feelings 
universally  experienced  by  our  countrymen,  even  at  the  sight 
of  a  single  grave  ]  We  enter  a  Pere  la  Chaise,  or  Necropolis, 
not  with  the  feelings  of  those  who  are  entering  the  *'  place 
of  graves,"  but  with  the  intention  and  desire  of  beholding 
works  of  art ;  and  while  we  admiringly  gaze  on  the  monu- 
mental pillars  and  sculptured  tombs  which  surround  us,  the 
slumbering  dead  who  lie  mouldering  beneath  are  not  in  all 
our  thoughts. 

I  love  the  quiet,  secluded  bur3dng-ground,  with  its  little 
green  hillocks  and  rudely-sculptured  tombstones,  surrounded 


ST  FERGUS*  WELL.  175 

with  the  solemn  grove  of  lofty  oaks  or  wide-spreading  elms  ; 
beautified,  it  may  be,  by  some  tiny,  murmuring  rivulet,  and 
overlooked  by  the  modest,  yet  venerable  house  of  God.  All 
these  characteristics  are  in  the  highest  degree  combined  in 
the  churchyard  of  Glamis,  than  which  a  sweeter  or  more 
romantic  ''  resting  place  "  is  not  to  be  found  among  all  the 
beautiful  scenes  of  our  beautiful  land.  Full  of  such  thoughts, 
as  I  sat  on  the  occasion  alluded  to  beside  St  Fergus'  Well, 
beneath  the  dark  shadow  of  the  rock  from  which  it  springs, 
and  encompassed  by  a  deeper  shadow  of  the  heart  crushed 
and  broken  under  its  great  sorrow,  I  could  not  refrain  from 
exclaiming  with  Bernard  Barton  :— 

"  Then  be  our  burial  grounds  as  should  become 
A  simple,  but  a  not  unfeeling  race  ; 
Let  them  appear,  to  outward  semblance,  dumb, 
As  best  befits  the  quiet  resting  place 
Appointed  for  the  prisoners  of  grace, 
Who  wait  the  promise  by  the  gospel  given — 

When  the  last  trump  shaU  sound,  the  trembling  base 
Of  tombs,  of  temples,  pyramids  be  riven, 
And  all  the  dead  arise  before  the  hosts  of  heaven  t " 

Although  no  authentic  history  is  on  record,  and  no 
vestiges  of  any  buildings  remain,  it  has,  with  every  probabil- 
ity, been  supposed  that  the  name  of  this  romantic  well  had 
its  origin  in  some  ancient  monastery,  of  which  St  Fergus  was 
the  patron  saint  and  chief.  No  site  for  an  Abbey  or  a 
Monastery  could  have  been  finer,  or  more  appropriate ;  and 
the  imagination  is  left  free  and  unfettered  to  fill  up  the 
picture  as  best  it  may. 

We  can  thus  wing  our  thoughts  away  at  our  own  free  will 
to  that  dark-shadowed,  remote  age,  when  this  romantic  sylvan 
den  was  rife  with  friars  and  monks  and  nuns,  and  vocal  with 
the  choral  hymns  and  orisons  and  vesper  songs  of  the 
cloistered  Abbey,  with  all  its  splendid  garniture  of  sculptured 
nave  and  pillared  aisle ;  the  crosier,  mitre,  jewelled  cross ;  the 
marble  altars  in  the  dimly-lighted  choir,  at  whose  holy  shrines 
the  shaven  priests  do  minister  in  their  variegated  robes,  from 


176  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGEND& 

the  sober  hues  of  mottled  grey,  to  the  royal  purple  aglow 
with  precious  stones,  and  bedight  with  glittering  trappings 
of  burnished  gold. 

As  is  my  wont,  however,  I  wish  to  surround  St.  Fergus' 
Well  with  some  living,  human  interest,  and  to  connect  its 
hallowed  precincts  with  the  present  as  well  as  with  the  past. 

About  the  middle  of  the  last  century  there  was  bom  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Glamis,  of  humble,  yet  industrious  and  re- 
spectable parents,  the  seventh  son  of  the  family.  Joe  Wight- 
man,  although  an  ailing  and  sickly  child,  grew  up  apace,  and  by 
the  time  he  went  to  the  village  school  he  had  grown  into  a 
fine,  stout,  healthy  boy.  After  mastering  the  rudiments,  he 
pursued  his  studies,  such  as  they  were,  with  the  greatest  appli- 
cation and  industry.  He  excelled  in  arithmetic,  his  great  de- 
light being  in  the  successful  manipulation  of  figures.  The 
climax  to  him  was  reached  at  last  when  he  was  taught  a  smat- 
tering of  algebra  and  mathematics,  and  had  fairly,  mastered 
all  the  other  branches  of  education  then  common  to  his  class. 

It  was  now  that  the  golden  dreams  of  the  ^ture  flitted  fit- 
fully across  the  mind  of  the  adventurous  and  aspiring  boy.  He 
had  high  ambition,  but  his  ambition  was  to  be  great  and  rich. 
While  his  youthful  brain  was  teeming  with,  these  gilded 
visions  of  power  and  renown,  he  used  to  retire  every  evening 
to  the  shady  quietude  of  St  Fergus'  Well  to  "  build  his  castles 
in  the  air,"  and  ruminate  on  the  steps  to  be  taken  to  secure 
the  reality  of  his  fondly  cherished  dreams. 

Of  this  truth  he  became  early  and  thoroughly  convinced,  viz., 
that  if  he  would  be  great  and  rich,  he  must  work  to  attain  these 
ends.  Being  of  a  practical  turn  of  mind,  he  duly  balanced 
and  weighed  the  probabilities  and  improbabilities  of  his  ever 
being  so  successful  in  life  as  to  reach  the  summit  of  his 
ambitious  hopes.  FeeUng  persuaded  in  his  own  mind  that 
he  had  sufficient  energy,  nerve,  and  perseverance  to  achieve 
success,  if  he  only  knew  how  to  set  about  it,  he  resolved  to 
make  himself  acquainted  with  the  histories  of  those  who  had, 
by  their  own  unaided  exertions,  become  great  and  good. 


ST  FERGUS'  WELU  177 

Books  and  libraries  not  being  so  plentiful  in  those  days, 
the  only  volume  pertaining  to  the  subject  he  could  obtain  was 
the  "  Life  and  Career  of  Whittington,"  who,  from  a  poor  friend- 
less boy,  became  thrice  Lord  Mayor  of  London.  This  was 
sufficient  for  young  Wightman  ;  he  had  read  enough ;  his  re- 
solution was  unalterably  taken ;  he  would  go  to  England  and 
strive  by  every  means  in  his  power  to  reach  the  summit  of 
his  ambition. 

Like  all  persons,  man  or  boy,  who  are  of  a  resolute,  deter- 
mined turn  of  mind,  our  hero  was  very  reticent  as  to  his 
future  plans  and  purposes,  concealing  his  high  aims  even 
from  his  nearest  and  dearest  relations,  unburthening  his  mind 
and  the  projects  by  which  it  was  filled  to  none  but  himself 
and  God.  This  is  scarcely,  however,  literally  correct  He 
had  a  *'  familiar,'*  and  that  familiar  was  St  Fergus'  Well ! 
Strange  as  it  may  seem,  this  ancient  well  and  classical  sur- 
roundings had  from  the  first  been  the  recipients  of  his 
thoughts,  and  with  whom  he  had  taken  counsel  as  with 
animate  intelligent  beings.  Not  that  the  young  aspirant  was 
of  a  dreamy,  poetical  temperament  He  had  not  the  most  in- 
finitesimal particle  of  that  in  his  composition.  If  he  had  had, 
he  would  never  have  achieved  success  as  a  plodding,  money- 
making  man  of  business. 

Before  advancing  further  in  his  career,  his  parents  had  now  to 
be  consulted.  This  he  did  with  all  the  fervour  of  emotional 
feeling,  yet  with  due  respect  and  affection  to  those  who  had 
done  well  their  part  to  him,  and  whom  he  most  tenderly  and 
reverentially  loved.  To  his  inexpressible  delight,  his  father 
encouragingly  approved  of  his  plans,  while  his  mother  did 
not  object,  although  it  was  apparent  her  negative  consent 
was  given  reservedly  and  with  great  reluctance. 

It  having  been  arranged  that  Joe  was  to  sail  for  London 
from  Dundee,  he  paid  his  last  visit  to  St  Fergus'  Well  on  the 
evening  previous  to  his  departure,  to  bid  a  final  adieu  to  scenes 
which  had  become  incorporated  with  his  very  nature.  It  was 
a  beautiful  summer  evening,  but  Joe  saw  not  its  beauty  ;  the 

M 


178  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

birds  were  twittering  among  the  branches^  but  he  heard  them 
not ;  the  bonnie  bum  was  sweetly  singing  its  low,  quiet  even- 
song, but  he  heeded  it  not.  Sipping  for  the  last  time  the 
cool,  refreshing  waters  of  the  well,  he  vowed  before  high 
heaven  he  would  not  return  to  his  native  village  until  he  was 
— Lord  Mayor  of  London  I 

The  next  morning  at  early  dawn,  Joe,  with  his  ash  sapling 
in  his  hand  and  his  little  bundle  o'er  his  arm,  was  ready  for 
his  journey.  His  father's  farewell  was  tender  and  affecting ; 
but  the  parting  with  his  mother  was,  on  her  part,  overwhelm- 
ingly sad.  As  she  for  the  last  time  strained  her  favourite  boy 
to  her  bosom,  the  only  expression  to  which  she  could  give 
utterance  were  these  simple  words — "  Dear  Joe." 

"  Farewell,"  responded  Joe.  "  Weep  not,  my  mother  ; 
your  boy  will  soon  return.** 

Footsore  and  weary  with  his  journey,  Joe  arrived  in  Dun- 
dee in  the  afternoon,  and  proceeded  at  once  to  the  office  of  the 
Dundee  and  London  Shipping  Company,  where  he  engaged  a 
berth  in  the  steerage  of  the  good  smack  Bridport,  Captain 
Wishart.  He  then  proceeded  to  the  harbour,  and  deposited 
his  bundle  and  stick  in  the  little  crib  in  the  forecastle  which 
he  had  selected  as  his  bertL  Finding  the  vessel  was  to  sail, 
wind  and  weather  permitting,  at  two  o'clock  on  the  following 
morning,  Joe  was  permitted  to  remain  on  board,  which  saved 
him  some  expense,  a  matter  of  great  importance  to  him  in 
the  then  rather  low  state  of  his  scanty  exchequer. 

These  were  the  good  old  days  of  the  trim  sailing  clipper 
smacks,  which  took  from  ten  days  to  two  or  three  weeks  to 
make  the  passage — when  there  was  no  certain  time  for  their 
sailing,  far  less  any  fixed  period  for  their  return.  So  accus- 
tomed, however,  had  the  voyageurs  to  and  from  the  Metropolis 
become  to  this  means  of  transit,  that  many  of  them,  long 
after  the  steamers  had  commenced  to  run  the  passage 
with  the  greatest  regularity,  and  in  a  twentieth  part  less 
of  time,  still  preferred  the  "old  way"  in  the  trig  sailing 
smacks.    Major  Guthrie,  a  well-known  and  highly  respected 


ST  FERGUS'  WELL.  179 

citizen  of  Dundee,  took  a  trip  once  every  year  to  London,  but 
to  the  last  he  gave  the  preference  to  his  favourite  smack,  the 
Sovereign,  over  the  fast-sailing  and  splendidly  equipped 
steamers  then  on  the  passage.  When  seriously  asked  the 
reason,  one  day,  for  this  strange  preference,  he  jocularly 
replied,  "  I  always  invest  my  money  where  I  can  get  the  best 
return !" 

Captain  Wishart,  of  the  Bridport,  was  the  real  veritable 
type  of  the  old  "  salt  *' — brusque,  genial,  kind-hearted,  brave 
— always  rough  and  ready  for  his  work,  and  whose  delight  it 
was  to  encounter  the  tempest  and  the  storm,  and  to  guide  his 
weather-beaten  ship  all  safely  and  true  amongst  and  over  the 
roaring  billows  to  her  destined  haven. 

Long  afterwards,  when  the  Captain's  son  was  appointed  to 
the  command  of  the  steamship  London,  the  late  Lord  Pan- 
mure  was  a  passenger  in  that  vessel  in  one  of  her 
trips  from  London  to  Dundee.  The  weather,  after  she 
had  left  the  Thames,  became  very  tempestuous  and  stormy, 
but  so  bravely  and  well  did  the  Captain  do  his  duty  that  the 
genial  and  appreciative  peer  proclaimed  him  to  be  "  the  prince 
of  sailors,"  and,  in  the  fulness  of  his  gratitude,  bestowed 
upon  him  a  piece  of  ground  at  the  West  Ferry,  on  which 
he  afterwards  erected  a  cottage  as  a  refuge  from  the  storms  of 
life,  and  which  the  old  sailor  very  thankfully  enjoyed  when 
no  longer  able  to  contend  with  the  warring  elements  on  the 
sea,  and  from  under  the  roof-tree  of  which  his  brave  spirit  at 
last  departed  in  peace  to  the  quiet  haven  of  eternal  rest. 

Everything  was  strange  and  new  to  Joe,  who  had  never 
seen  the  sea  or  a  ship  before.  "  A  rough  lot  these  sailors, "  said 
Joe  to  himself,  "  but  I  am  determined  to  take  nothing  amiss, 
but  to  rough  it  with  the  best  of  them,  deeming  the  performance 
of  no  duty  menial  or  beneath  me,  if  by  the  doing  of  it  I 
can  honestly  and  effectually  advance  my  own  interest,"  an 
axiom  which  afterwards  proved  to  be  the  real  cause  of  his 
success  in  life. 

The  tide  was  full,  and  the  hour  appointed  for  sailing  had 


180  STRATHMORE:  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

arrived,  but  the  wind  had  suddenly  chopped  round  to  the 
east,  and  Captain  Wishart  was  reluctantly  compelled  to  delay 
the  ship's  departure  till  the  following  tide.  When  the  tide 
again  was  full  the  wind  had  become  more  favourable,  and  the 
impatient  captain  gave  the  expected  fiat  to  make  ready  for 
sea. 

All  now  was  bustle  and  excitement  on  board  the  good  ship 
Bridport,  the  cabin  passengers  were  all  on  deck,  and  the  crew, 
all  told,  were  running  hither  and  thither,  shouting  "  Aye,  aye, 
sir,"  and  unfurling  the  huge  mainsail  to  the  piping  breeze, 
while  the  sonorous  voice  of  the  captain  rose  hoarsely  and  high 
above  all  in  authoritative  tones  of  high  command,  which  to 
hear  was  to  obey. 

"  Lend  us  a  hand,  young  chap,  '*  jocularly  cried  one  of  the 
sailors  to  Joe,  who,  nothing  loth,  obeyed  the  summons  with 
the  utmost  alacrity  by  pulling  the  ropes  as  the  sailors  pulled, 
and  with  a  right  good  will  otherwise  assisting  in  their  duties 
to  the  best  of  his  ability. 

** That's  a  good  lad,"  encouragingly  said  the  captain; 
** you'll  be  Lord  Mayor  of  London  yet." 

Away  down  the  beautiful  river  proud  and  swan-like  the 
Bridport  went,  passing  Broughty  Castle  and  the  Lights  of  Tay 
with  a  proud,  majestic  sweep,  that  bore  her  on  triumphantly 
to  the  bar,  o'er  which  the  white-crested  breakers  ominously 
broke  with  a  crashing,  growling  sound,  which  went  to  Joe's 
innermost  heart  of  hearts,  for  the  land  of  his  fathers  was  fast 
receding  from  his  view,  and  he  now  realised  for  the  first  time 
that  he  was  literally  and  emphatically  alone  on  life's  dark  and 
troubled  sea,  with  none  to  guide  the  helm  save  He  who  alone 
can  still  the  stormy  wave,  and  bring  the  tempest-tossed 
voyager  to  the  havens  of  earthly  and  everlasting  rest. 

The  sailors  prophesied  it  would  be  a  "  nasty "  night,  and 
Joe,  feeling  somewhat  squeamish,  and  sick  at  heart  to  boot, 
retired  below  to  his  crib  in  the  forecastle,  ostensibly  to  sleep, 
but  in  reality  to  ruminate  on  the  perilous  future  that  lay  in 
all  its  indistinctive  outlines  before  him.     The  ship  had  now 


ST  FERGUS'  WELL.  181 

cleared  the  Tay,  and  was  tossing  amongst  the  troubled  billows 
of  St  Andrews  Bay,  her  sails  flapping  in  fitful  thuds  on  the 
creaking  masts,  and  her  cordage,  lashed  by  the  roaring  waves, 
groaning  in  agony  like  the  vengeful  demon  of  the  brooding 
storm.  Now  down  in  the  trough  of  the  swelling  sea,  anon 
riding  out  the  tempest  on  the  crest  of  the  mountain  wave, 
with  the  sea-mews  screaming  ominously  overhead,  and  the 
sleety  rain  falling  in  copious  showers  around,  away  went  the 
little  smack,  right  bravely  clearing  for  herself  a  pathway 
safe  and  clear  over  the  stormy  deep. 

Joe  could  not  sleep ;  Joe  could  not  think.  Such  was  the 
fury  of  the  storm,  that  for  three  long  days  and  nights  the 
hatches  had  to  be  fastened  down,  leaving  the  forecastle 
during  all  that  dreary  time  in  total  darkness.  Fortunately  for 
our  young  hero,  he  was  so  miserably  sea-sick  all  that  terrible 
time,  that  he  had  ceased  to  think  of  life  and  its  prospects 
at  all,  or  if  occasionally  he  did  so,  it  was  only  to  wish  himself 
and  all  his  ambitious  hopes  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

"  A  rough  beginning  means  a  good  ending,"  encouragingly 
shouted  the  captain,  as  young  Wightman  appeared  on  the 
deck  on  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day,  pale  and  sickly  from 
recent  illness,  and  ravenously  hungry  by  reason  of  his  long  fast 
The  swell  of  the  sea  was  still  considerable,  but  the  sun  was 
shining  bright  and  unclouded  overhead,  begemming  the 
troubled  waves  with  a  silvery  radiance  very  beautiful  and 
exhilarating,  coming  after  such  a  dark  and  fearful  storm. 

"That  is  Scarborough,"  kindly  said  our  captain  to  Joe,  as 
he  leant  over  the  vessel's  side,  evidently  delighted  he  had 
seen  the  land  and  human  habitations  once  more. 

"  When  shall  we  reach  London  1 "  responded  Joe,  appar- 
ently unheeding  the  remark  of  the  captain. 

"  In  three  days  at  farthest,"  replied  Captain  Wishart ; 
"but,  dear  me,  my  lad,  he  added,  "your 'gills  are  as  white 
as  a  well-bleached  spelding.  Come  down  and  breakfast  with 
me  in  the  cabin,  you  require  some  nourishing  food  after  your 
long  fast." 


182  STRATHMGRE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

On  the  second  day  thereafter,  the  Bridport  was  dashing 
through  Yarmouth  Roads,  in  which  there  was  the  usual 
display  of  shipping,  a  scene  which  never  fails  to  call  forth 
exclamations  of  wonder  and  delight  as  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  and  animating  sights  a  seaman  or  landsman  can 
behold.     On  the  following  day  she  entered  the  Thames. 

"  There  is  the  land  of  plenty  now,  my  lad,"  gaily  said  the 
captain  to  our  young  hero,  whose  heart  beat  quickly  with 
new  and  indescribable  emotions,  as  the  vessel  swept  swiftly 
on  her  course  with  the  flowing  tide  up  the  renowned  and 
beautiful  river. 

Under  the  pilot's  directions  she  soon  passed  Sheemess  on 
the  one  hand,  and  Southend  on  the  other,  till  Gravesend  and 
Greenwich  reached  and  passed,  she  slowly  made  her  way 
through  the  forests  of  shipping  in  the  Pool,  until  the  Bridge 
of  London  coming  suddenly  in  sight,  made  her  passengers 
and  crew  aware  their  voyage  was  ended. 

Having  learned  somewhat  of  young  Wightman's  history 
and  aims  during  the  voyage.  Captain  Wishart  kindly  gave 
Joe  the  address  of  a  lodging-house-keeper  in  Wapping,  where 
he  knew  he  would  not  only  be  comfortably  provided  for, 
but  saf^  from  all  attempts  at  imposition  and  fraud. 

*'  Good-bye,  my  lad,"  said  the  kind-hearted  captain.  "  We 
shall  lie  here  for  a  week  or  ten  days.  Gome  down  to  the 
wharf  before  we  sail  and  let  me  know  how  you  get  on.  This 
boy  will  pilot  you  safely.     Good-bya     God  bless  you  ! " 

Joe  was  up  betimes  next  morning,  and,  looking  out  from 
his  bed-room  window,  the  high  brick  walls  of  St  Katherine's 
Dock  too  truly  told  him  he  was  indeed  far  away  from  his 
native  village  and  the  breezy  fields  of  Strathmore  !  From  a 
cage  hung  out  beneath,  there  came  at  that  instant,  the  sweet, 
well-known  song  of  the  lark,  which,  while  it  carried  his 
thoughts  on  the  wings  of  love,  in  joyous  ecstasy  to  the  scenes 
of  his  childhood  home,  served,  at  the  same  time,  to  cheer  his 
spirits  and  nerve  his  heart,  to  achieve  success  in  the  perilous 
enterprise  on  which  he  had  embarked. 


ST  FERGUS*  WELL.  183 

After  a  hasty  breakfast,  Joe  eagerly  set  out  for  the  City. 
He  passed  along  Tower  Hill,  scarcely  noticing  the  grim 
castellated  Tower  on  his  left,  with  the  Beef-eaters,  in  their 
quaint  yet  picturesque  costumes,  lounging  at  its  gates. 
Through  the  narrow  and  tortuous  defiles  of  Great  Tower 
Street  he  went,  turning  to  the  right  at  London  Bridge,  until 
he  stood  paralysed  and  bewildered  amidst  the  crowd  on  the 
pavement  in  front  of  the  Old  Royal  Exchange.  He  knew,  as 
if  by  instinct,  that  the  heavily-porticoed  palatial  building 
before  him  to  the  west  was  the  Mansion  House,  the  City 
residence  of  the  Lord  Mayor,  on  which  he  gazed  long  and 
anxiously,  in  a  reverie  of  strange,  inexpressible  delight. 
Threading  his  way  amongst  the  innumerable  vehicles  and 
pedestrians  as  best  he  could,  he  crossed  over  to  Lothbury, 
from  which  he  passed  to  Old  Broad  Street,  and  from  thence 
into  Bishopgate  Street,  all  the  while  keeping  a  sharp  eye 
'about  him,  lest  any  chance  should  be  lost  of  advancing  in  the 
slightest  degree  his  own  personal  interest,  amidst  the 
thousands  of  interests  that  everywhere  manifested  themselves 
around  him.  When  he  reached  the  London  Tavern,  with 
Cornhill  on  his  right,  Leadenhall  Street  on  his  left,  and 
Fenchurch  Street  immediately  opposite,  he  felt  quite  puzzled 
which  route  to  take  next. 

A  ''block,"  as  it  is  familiarly  called  in  the  City,  having 
occurred  at  the  moment  in  the  first-named  thoroughfares, 
Joe  darted  like  an  arrow  down  Fenchurch  Street,  and, 
turning  into  Lombard  Street  for  a  moment  to  be  somewhat 
out  of  the  crowd,  he  stood  at  the  entrance  to  Abchurch  Lane, 
quite  exhausted  with  his  morning's  peregrinations  in  the 
great  City. 

While  dolefully  musing  as  to  his  future  proceedings,  an 
elderly  gentleman,  with  all  the  air  of  a  "  City  man,"  rode  up 
the  street  on  horseback,  and,  dismounting  where  Joe  in  such 
dubiety  stood,  he  abruptly  asked  him  to  hold  his  horse  for  a 
few  minutes  while  he  went  up  the  lane  to  his  counting-house. 
Joe  most  readily  and  cheerfully  assented,  and  when  his 


1 84  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

employer  re-appeared,  he  kindly  gave  him  a  shilling — ^the  first 
money  he  had  ever  gained  in  his  life. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  very  gratefully  said  Joe,  and  the  gentle- 
man sprang  into  the  saddle  with  all  the  agility  of  one 
accustomed  to  such  exercise.  Before  he  started,  however,  he 
turned  round  enquiringly  to  Joe,  and  asked  if  he  was  from 
Scotland.  Joe  proudly  answered  that  he  was  from  Forfar- 
shire. 

"  I  thought  so,*'  rejoined  the  horseman,  "  from  the  manner 
in  which  you  so  broadly  pronounced  the  word  *  Thank*  A 
very  small,  and  somewhat  similar  circumstance,  was  the 
turning  point  in  my  own  life,  and  this  may,  perhaps,  be  the 
turning  point  in  yours.  Take  this  card,  and  while  I  am  at 
Guild  Hall  await  in  my  office  my  return." 

Reading  from  the  card  aloud  as  he  went  up  the  lane  in 
search  of  the  office,  the  dingy  thoroughfare  re-echoed  the 
words — "  Alderman  Pirie,  Abchurch  Lane."  With  a  beating 
heart  Joe  entered  the  counting-house,  delivered  his  message, 
and  sat  down,  as  desired,  beside  the  porter  in  the  outer 
office. 

Left  alone  to  his  own  reflections,  Joe  inwardly  pondered 
very  fondly  and  hopefully  on  the  kind  stranger's  prophetic 
words,  recalling  to  his  recollection  the  simple  circumstance 
that  became  the  turning-point  in  the  youthful  career  of  his 
favourite  Whittington,  "  thrice  Lord  Mayor  of  London."  As 
is  usual,  however,  with  young  or  old,  suspense  he  felt  to  be 
the  most  painful  sensation  he  had  ever  yet  experienced,  so 
pleasurably  tantalizing  and  yet  so  poignantly  wringing  the 
tender  chords  of  his  young  and  sensitive  heart. 

How  trivial  and  unexpected  ofttimes  are  the  circumstances 
which  change  and  fix  our  destinies !  When  the  great 
Napoleon  was  dictating  a  despatch  on  the  head  of  a  drum  at 
the  siege  of  Toulin  in  1794,  to  an  unknown  sergeant  of  artil- 
lery, a  cannon  ball  came  close  to  them  and  threw  a  quantity 
of  dust  on  the  paper.  ^'  That  is  lucky,"  exclaimed  the  sergeant, 
"  we  shall  not  require  sand  for  this  paper."    **  What  can  I  do 


ST  FERGUS'  WELL.  185 

for  you,*'  said  Napoleon,  "  to  evince  my  regard  1 "  "  Every- 
thing," said  the  sergeant,  "you  can  convert  my  worsted 
shoulder-knot  into  an  epaulette."  Napoleon  recommended 
him  for  promotion,  and  he  got  his  commission.  His  name  was 
JuNOT,  and  he  became  Duke  of  Abrantes,  and  one  of  the  most 
distinguished  marshalls  of  France. 

In  an  hour  and  a  half,  which  to  the  expectant  boy  seemed 
an  age,  the  worthy  Alderman  returned,  and  Joe  being  ushered 
into  his  private  room,  his  worship  put  several  searching 
questions  to  the  young  adventurer,  whose  straightforward 
and  candid  answers  seemed  to  the  merchant  so  satisfactory 
that  he  offered  to  take  him  at  once  into  his  employment. 

"  You  must  begin  at  the  lowest  step  of  the  ladder,  as  I 
did,"  said  the  Alderman,  "  when  I  came  from  Aberdeen  to 
London,  a  poor  and  friendless  lad,  some  five-and-thirty  years 
ago.  The  world  is  pretty  much  as  we  make  it  ourselves.  It 
is  not  by  any  miracle  or  trick  of  legerdemain  that  men  generally 
achieve  success.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  only  by  integrity, 
unwearied  industry,  and  steady  perseverance,  that  any  one 
€an  attain  to  eminence,  be  his  profession  what  it  may.  You 
seem  to  have  got  a  fair  education,  and  this,  united  to  solid 
religious  principles,  which  is  the  pride  and  birthright  of  every 
Scotsman,  combined  with  the  indispensable  requisites  already 
mentioned,  should  enable  you  to  make  your  mark  on  the  age 
in  which  you  live.  With  these  few  words  of  advice  I  dismiss 
you  to  your  duties. — ^Take  this  youngster  into  the  counting- 
house,"  continued  the  merchant,  addressing  his  chief  clerk, 
who  had  noiselessly  appeared  at  the  summons  of  his  master. 
"  We  need  some  little  assistance  at  present ;  and  tell  me  ^in  a 
month  what  you  can  make  of  him." 

Remembering  his  promise  to  Captain  Wishart,  Joe  rushed 
down  to  the  Dundee  Wharf  on  the  following  morning,  before 
he  went  to  the  city,  to  communicate  to  his  kind-hearted  friend 
the  good  news  of  his  success. 

''  Eight  glad  to  hear  it,  my  lad,"  rejoined  the  Captain,  after 
listening  to  his  young  protdgfs  recital  of  the  events  of  the 


186  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

previous  day.  "  I  felt  certain,  somehow  or  other,  you  would 
succeed.  I  always  have  a  good  opinion  of  a  youth  at  your 
age  who  lends  a  hand  to  assist  in  anything  that  comes  in  his 
way.  I  took  notice  of  your  willingness  to  make  yourself 
useful  in  our  upward  voyage,  and  said  in  jest  you  would  be 
Lord  Mayor  of  London  yet  I  may  not  live  to  see  it,  but  I 
am  much  mistaken  if  you  don't  weather  the  storm  and  make 
that  port  at  last.  Away  to  your  duty,  my  boy.  Come  and 
see  me  when  you  know  that  I  am  at  the  Wharf.  Good-bye ; 
God  bless  you.'' 

The  report  given  at  the  end  of  the  month  by  the  principal 
clerk  to  his  superior  must  have  been,  on  the  whole,  highly 
satisfactory,  for  Joe  was  installed  as  a  junior  apprentice  at  a 
small  advancing  salary  per  annum,  sufficient  to  keep  him,  by 
the  exercise  of  care  and  economy,  in  comparative  respectability 
and  comfort 

The  three  years  of  his  apprenticeship  soon  passed  away, 
and  young  Wightman,  at  eighteen  years  of  age,  found  himself 
in  the  receipt  of  a  very  liberal  salary,  which  enabled  him  to 
be  of  some  assistance  to  his  parents,  who  were  ever  duly 
advised  of  all  his  proceedings  and  prospects. 

He  now  removed  from  Wapping  to  Islington,  the  favourite 
residence  then  and  still  of  the  Scotch,  in  as  remarkable  a 
degree  as  Chelsea  is  the  chosen  paradise  of  old  Indians. 
Wightman — now  a  smart,  well  dressed  youth — might  be  seen 
every  morning  walking  with  a  proud  and  firm  step  down  the 
City  Road  to  Lombard  Street,  where  he  earnestly  and 
industriously  pursued  his  commercial  studies,  and  assiduously 
and  ungrudgingly  performed  his  daily  duties. 

As  the  result  of  his  early  religious  training,  he  regularly 
attended  Divine  worship  in  the  Presbyterian  Church  at 
London- Wall,  then  the  only  Scotch  church  in  the  east  of 
London.  The  congregation  having  within  the  last  ten  or 
twelve  years  removed  to  a  handsome  new  church  in  De 
Beauvoir  Town,  Kingsland,  the  site  of  the  old  building  in 
the  City  is  now  occupied  by  extensive  general  warehouses. 


ST  FERGUS'  WELL.  187 

thus  obliterating  for  ever  one  of  the  old  landmarks  so  dear  to 
every  Scotsman's  heart. 

As  years  rolled  on,  the  tide  of  good  fortune  and  prosperity 
still  flowed  in  rich  abundance  to  the  worthy  Alderman's  jpro- 
tegd,  who,  by  his  activity,  shrewdness,  and  untiring  industry, 
had  raised  himself  to  a  high  position  in  the  office,  and  com- 
pletely succeeded  in  gaining  the  entire  confidence  of  his 
appreciative  employer.  The  chief  clerk,  who  had  grown  grey 
in  the  service  of  his  master,  having  retired  at  this  time  from 
active  duty  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  handsome  annuity 
generously  bestowed  upon  him  by  Mr  Pirie,  Mr  Wightman 
was  at  once  promoted  to  the  important  post,  the  duties  of 
which  were  so  efficiently  discharged  by  him,  that  at  the 
termination  of  three  years  he  was  taken  into  partnership  with 
the  worthy  Alderman,  whose  time  being  now  much  engrossed 
with  Corporation  affairs,  the  whole  responsibility  of  his  ex- 
tensive business  devolved  in  consequence  upon  the  shoulders 
of  the  junior  partner,  who  proved  himself  in  every  way  equal 
to  the  task,  and  worthy  of  the  confidence  reposed  in  him  by 
his  chief 

As  a  proof  o  the  high  esteem  in  which  he  was  held  by  his 
employer,  young  Wightman  was  now  a  frequent  guest  at  the 
Alderman's  beautiful  residence  at  Twickenham,  on  the  banks 
of  the  winding  Thames,  on  which  occasions  his  early  educa- 
tion and  Christian  training  stood  him  in  good  stead  in  the 
superior  and  intelligent  society  which  congregated  around  the 
hospitable  table  of  the  great  and  popular  magnate  of  the  City. 
Mr  Wightman  had  occasionally  been  a  visitor  there  during 
the  years  of  his  clerkship,  but  the  distance  between  himself 
and  his  master  he  invariably  felt  to  be  so  great,  that  a 
necessary  diffidence  of  manner  restrained  the  full  play  of  his 
natural  abilities,  and  checked  the  current  of  his  powers  of 
conversation.  Now  all  was  changed ;  and  as  an  equal  with 
the  best  of  them,  he  worthily  sustained,  without  hindrance 
from  within  or  from  without,  the  important  part  that  was  ex- 


188  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

pected  of  him  as  the  partner  of  one  of  the  most  intelligent 
and  richest  merchants  of  the  City. 

Alderman  Pirie  had  an  only  child — the  sunshine  of  his 
luxurious  and  happy  home.  His  heart  was  centred  in  his 
amiable  and  beautiful  daughter  Evangeline,  who  had  lost  her 
mother  several  years  before,  to  the  great  regret  and  grief  of 
all  who  had  known  her.  From  the  first,  a  deep-rooted 
affection  had  sprung  up,  unknown  to  each  other,  in  the  breasts 
of  Evangeline  and  young  Wightman ;  but  the  feeling  never 
found  expression  until  the  latter  had  established  himself  in 
a  position  worthy  of  the  daughter  of  such  a  father,  and  of  her 
own  superior  excellences  as  a  lovely  and  accomplished  woman. 
It  was  the  prospect,  indeed,  of  her  becoming  at  some  distant 
day  his  own  that  had  upheld  his  heart  and  cheered  his  spirit 
amidst  the  dangers  and  difficulties  through  which  he  had 
passed,  and  which  had  nerved  and  encouraged  his  unceasing 
efforts  and  unwearying  labours  to  make  his  mark  in  the  world, 
and  to  raise  liimself  to  the  high  and  enviable  position  to 
which  he  had  now  most  gratefully  attained. 

His  highest  hopes,  his  dearest  wishes,  were  at  last  realised. 
Evangeline  became  the  happy  wife  of  Mr  Joseph  Wightman 
— the  happy  pair  receiving  on  their  wedding  day  the  joyful 
congratulations  and  good  wishes  of  all  who  had  the  honour 
and  pleasure  of  their  acquaintance.  The  finition  of  the  first 
and  only  love  of  each,  and  a  union  of  the  purest  and  sweetest 
affection,  no  wonder  that,  under  God,  their  after-life  became 
progressively  prosperous  and  supremely  happy.  Alas  !  alas  ! 
if  it  had  been  fated  to  have  been  united  in  the  bonds  of  first 
affection,  how  different,  in  its  aims  and  results,  might  many  a 
life  have  been  ! 

Still  true  to  his  early  ambition,  Joe  forgot  not  the  goal  to 
which  all  his  restless  hopes  tended,  and  lost  no  opportunity 
to  advance  his  personal  interests  in  that  direction.  Keeping 
this  object  steadily  in  view,  he  became  a  Liveryman,  by  join- 
ing the  Merchant  Tailors'  Company,  one  of  the  most  ancient 
and  richest  Guilds  of  the  City.     He   was  soon  afterwards 


ST  FERGUS*  WELL.  189 

elected  a  Common  Councilman— the  next  step  to  an  Alder- 
man's gown — and  assiduously  devoted  himself  to  the  acquire- 
ment of  the  requisite  knowledge  of  Corporation  affairs  to 
enable  him  satisfactorily  to  perform  his  varied  duties. 

At  this  time,  '*  like  a  shock  of  com  fully  ripe,"  the  good  old 
Alderman  Pirie  was  gathered  to  his  fathers,  leaving  behind 
him  an  untarnished  reputation  as  a  man  and  a  Christian,  and 
bequeathing  to  those  who  were  to  follow  him  in  the  race  of 
life  the  example  of  his  good  deeds,  as  an  incentive  to  imitate 
those  virtues  and  perform  those  duties  which  alone  can  enable 
them  effectually  to  reach  the  goal. 

By  the  unanimous  voice  of  the  Ward,  Councillor  Wightman 
was  elected  Alderman  of  Bishopgate- Without,  as  successor  to 
his  father-in-law.  Alderman  Pirie.  Assuming  his  official 
robes,  the  young  aspirant,  at  the  next  Court  of  Aldermen  in 
Guild  Hall,  was  duly  sworn  into  office,  and  took  his  place 
amongst  the  City  magnates  amidst  the  warmest  congratula^ 
tions  of  his  brother  magistrates. 

The  Aldermen  of  London  are  elected  to  the  office  for  life, 
and,  as  Magistrates  and  Justices  of.  the  Peace,  enjoy  a  source 
of  professional  training  befitting  their  high  office,  and  effectu- 
ally preparing  them  for  their  higher  duties  when  they  in  due 
rotation  become  Lord  Mayor.  There  being  seven  Aldermen 
who  had  not  passed  the  chair  when  Mr  Wightman  was  elected 
to  the  office,  it  followed  that  seven  years  must  elapse  ere  he 
could  wield  the  sceptre  of  the  City. 

Another  honour,  however,  awaited  him  before  the  final 
consummation  of  his  hopes.  In  two  years  after  assuming  the 
aldermanic  gown  he  was  elected  by  the  Livery  to  fill  the 
honourable  office  of  one  of  the  Sheriffs  of  London,  the  onerous 
duties  of  which  high  position  he  performed  with  great  zeal  and 
becoming  dignity. 

At  the  termination  of  other  five  years  he  rode  forth,  on  the 
morning  of  the  9th  November,  from  Guild  Hall  to  Westmin- 
ster in  his  chariot  of  state,  in  all  the  pomp  and  circumstance 
of  Lord  Mayor  of  London,  and  Chief  Magistrate  of  the  greatest 


190  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

City  of  the  world.  In  the  evening  were  gathered  round  him 
in  the  banquet  hall  several  members  of  the  Royal  Family, 
the  great  Officers  and  Ministers  of  State,  the  Foreign  Ambas- 
sadors, many  Members  of  the  two  Houses  of  Parliament ;  men 
of  science,  art,  and  literature ;  the  first  merchants  in  the  city, 
and  the  greatest  men  in  the  country.  And  so  it  came  to  pass 
that  the  once  poor  and  friendless  boy  from  the  Howe  of  Strath- 
more  not  only  sat  as  an  equal  with  the  princes,  and  nobles, 
and  great  ones  of  the  earth,  but  entertained  them  as  guests  at 
his  own  table. 

When  the  great  civic  feast  was  ended,  and  the  numerous 
guests  were  slowly  departing,  the  Eight  Honourable  Joseph 
Wightman,  Lord  Mayor  of  London,  turned  aside  to  speak 
with  a  friend  from  Scotland,  whom  he  had  especially  invited 
to  be  present. 

"  I  have  carefully  preserved,"  said  his  Lordship,  "the 
spotted  handkerchief  in  which  my  mother  wrapped  my  scanty 
wardrobe  on  the  morning  of  my  departure  from  home,  and 
also  the  sapling  ash  stick  I  carried  in  my  hand  on  my  journey 
to  Dundee  when  I  embarked  for  London,  and  these  I  value 
more  than  my  official  robes,  this  brightly  begemmed  massy 
circlet  of  gold,  or  the  silver-gilt  mace,  and  sword  of  state. 
I  have  now  only  one  wish  left  ungratified — the  longing,  yearn- 
ing wish  to  see  my  mother  and  St  Fergus  Well. 

Mr  Wightman's  father  had  died  many  years  before,  and 
his  aged  mother  was  now  on  her  death-bed.  When  informed 
of  her  son's  elevation,  and  the  great  splendour  with  which  the 
event  had  been  celebrated,  instead  of  indulging  in  expressions 
of  grateful  joy,  her  thoughts  reverted  to  the  days  of  his  youth, 
and  to  her  sad  parting  with  her  darling  boy  on  the  morning  he 
left  his  native  vale;  and  turning  her  face  to  the  wall,  she 
quietly  passed  away,  repeating  in  mournful  accents  the  refrain 
she  had  so  often  and  grievingly  sung  since  his  departure — 
"  My  boy  does  not  return ! " 

Joe,  sad  now  leayes  his  native  village, 
His  bundle  o*er  his  ann  ; 


ST  FERGUS'  WELL.  *191 

He*8  ta'en  the  last  look  of  the  cottage, 

The  last  look  of  the  farm. 
Bis  mother  clasps  him  to  her  bosom, 

Beside  the  boDnie  bum — 
"  Dear  Joe  ;  " — "  Farewell,  weep  not,  my  mother, 

Your  boy  will  soon  return. 

Your  boy  will  soon  return." 

The  summer  time  oft  glad  revolying, 

Brought  sunshine,  fruit,  and  flowers  ; 
And  winter's  blasts  oft  wildly  roaring, 

Howl'd  through  the  leafless  bowers. 
The  young  grew  old,  the  aged  passing. 

Each  to  his  silent  urn  ; 
The  widowed  mother  lone  repining — 

"  My  boy  does  not  return, 
My  boy  does  not  return ! " 

To  that  bright  vale  swift  flew  an  angel, 

With  trumpet  blast  of  fame, 
Proclaiming  to  the  dying  mother 

Her  son's  now  honoured  name. 
But  of  bin  youth  e'er  fondly  dreaming, 

For  him  she  still  doth  yearn  ; 
Her  last  words  faintly  low  and  broken — 

**  My  boy.  does  not  return. 
My  boy  does  not  return !  " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THB  WARNING. 

*'  The  night  has  been  unruly  ;  where  we  lay. 
Our  chimneys  were  blown  down  ;  and  as  they  say, 
Lamentings  heard  i'  the  air ;  strange  screams  of  death, 
And  prophesying  with  accents  terrible. 
Of  dire  combustion  and  confused  events, 
New  hatch'd  to  the  woeful  time.*' 

Macbeth. 

The  dwellers  in  the  Howe,  like  the  generality  of  their 
countrymen,  were,  at  the  time  of  which  I  write,  not  only 
iirm  believers  in  the  existence  of  brownies,  fairies,  spunkies, 
and  waterkelpies,  but  also  in  the  prophetic  surroundings  of 
dreams,  mysterious  noises,  death-lights,  warnings,  &c.,  which 
exercised  no  inconsiderable  influence  on  their  lives  and 
destinies.  I  shall  confine  myself  in  the  present  chapter, 
however,  to  the  influence  mysterious  sounds,  heard  in  certain 
circumstances,  had  upon  the  minds,  generally,  of  those  who 
heard  them. 

I  have  in  "  Village  Scenes "  attempted  to  draw  the  por- 
traiture, and  record  the  many  virtues  of  a  revered  and 
beloved  parent,  whose  name  is  still  honoured  and  venerated 
in  the  district  of  the  Howe  where  he  lived.  With  a  well- 
cultured  mind,  he  was  of  a  courteous  and  benevolent  disposi- 
tion, although  prudent  and  cautious  withal.  Though  strictly 
formal,  in  every  way,  so  that  each  thing  about  the  farm  and 
mill  stood  in  its  proper  place,  and  each  performed  his  or  her 
allotted  duty  within  the  specified  time,  his  sway,  from  his 
God-fearing  nature,  was  felt  to  be  neither  irksome  nor 
severe.  Everything  did  he  so  nicely  aud  strictly  poise,  that 
no  rude  bustle  or  unseemly  noise  was  ever  seen  or  heard 


THE  WARNING.  193 

about  the  farm ;  and  nothing  that  could  be  done  at  once, 
was  left  to  be  accomplished  on  the  morrow.  The  conse- 
quence was  that  the  Sabbath  was  a  day  of  holy  and  peaceful 
rest ;  not  a  day  of  gloomy  austerity,  but  of  cheerful,  religious, 
repose. 

0  softly  on  the  breeze  was  borne 
The  incense  sweet  of  Sabbath  morn  ; 
And  in  the  evening's  peaceful  calm, 
How  sweet  arose  the  holy  psalm, 
The  thrilling,  heartfelt,  solemn  prayer, 
Which  he,  with  patriarchal  air, 
Did  at  the  throne  on  bended  knee, 
Present  with  deep  humility  I 
No  venal  song  to  him  I  bring, 
Nor  hollow  praise  unfeeling  sing, 
Nor  an  ideal  shadow  forth, 
While  I  pay  tribute  to  his  worth. 
Ah,  no  !  see  here  the  mountain  stream. 
By  which  in  childhood's  sunny  dream. 
The  good  man  wandered  with  his  boy, 
In  blissful,  sweet,  untroubled  joy  ; 
And  there,  the  flowery  braes  so  fair, 
On  which  did  he  his  gambols  share, 
And  here  the  wood,  and  there  the  mill. 
The  fondly-cherished  murmuring  rill ; 
And  there — beside  the  spreading  thorn, 
Sweet  stands  the  house  where  I  was  bom. 

VUlage  Scenes. 

It  was  the  evening  of  a  sweet  autumnal  Sabbath  day. 
My  father,  servants,  and  all  the  household  of  Aimiefoul,  had 
been  to  the  church  of  Glamis,  and  listened  with  deep  rever- 
ence to  the  stirring  expositions  of  Scripture,  and  solemn 
devotional  exercises  of  the  venerable  Dr.  Lyon,  then  in  the 
full  zenith  of  his  well-earned  reputation  as  a  faithful  and 
zealous  parochial  minister.  As  was  then  the  custom  in 
Strathmore,  all  were  assembled  in  the  kitchen  for  family 
worship.  Besides  the  members  of  our  own  household,  there 
was,  in  addition,  the  tailor  of  the  district,  whose  form  and 
bearing  did  not,  certainly,  belie  his  profession.  This  im- 
portant functionary  was  quite  an  institution  in  the  parish. 

N 


194  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

When  .there  was  sufficient  work  for  him  to  do,  he  sometimes 
abode  at  the  different  farms  for  days,  and  even  weeks 
together.  He  was  always  well  lodged,  and  well  fed,  as 
became  his  station.  Generally  well  informed  of  all  domestic 
matters  amongst  his  neighbours,  he  might,  very  appropriately 
have  been  termed  gossip-general  of  the  Strath.  And  so 
well  did  he  maintain  his  reputation,  that  it  was  generally 
reported  of  him  that  he  knew  the  public  and  private  affaire 
of  all  in  the  Howe  and  the  Glen,  very  much  better  than  they 
did  themselves. 

As  the  tailor  here  alluded  to,  is,  undoubtedly,  the  pivot 
around  which  the  incidents  to  be  described  in  this  chapter 
will  naturally  turn,  it  may  be  interesting,  as  well  as  necessary, 
that  I  should  rapidly  sketch  the  outlines  of  the  corporeal 
tabernacle  of  the  man  on  whose  shoulders  such  momentous 
events  and  their  consequences  have  been  thrown. 

Sandy  Alison,  the  tailor-in-chief  of  the  Howe,  was  a 
dapper,  priggish,  little  active  body.  His  age  might  be  fifty- 
five  or  sixty,  less  or  more;  his  height  somewhere  between 
five  feet  five,  and  five  feet  seven.  His  figure  was  slim  and 
somewhat  bent,  his  features  small  and  sharp,  his  complexion 
sallow,  and  his  twinkling  grey  eyes  of  that  restless  mis- 
chievous description  which  boded  no  good  to  any  body  to 
whom  he  had  taken  a  dislike. 

When  he  sat  with  his  legs  twisted  beneath  him  on  the  work- 
board,  he  looked  a  very  insignificant  specimen  of  humanity 
indeed.  When  he  walked,  his  legs  carried  him  along  at 
such  a  rate,  that  it  seemed  as  if  they  had  run  off  with  him, 
like  the  man  with  the  new  cork  leg,  who  could  not  unwind 
its  springs  to  stop  its  never-ending  velocity.  His  voice, 
always  pitched  in  a  high  key,  was  sharp,  harsh,  and  dis- 
agreeable to  the  ear.  He  seldom  laughed,  but  his  chuckle 
was  fiendish-like  and  ominously  malicious.  The  chief  delight 
of  his  being  seemed  to  be  to  riot  in  the  woes  and  misfortunes 
of  others,  and  darkly  to  prophesy  from  the  apparently 
mysterious    incidents    occurring    around  him,  those   bitter 


THE  WARNING.  1 95 

trials  and  bereavementSy  whose  dark  shadow  generally  pre- 
cedes the  reality  itself.  Sandy,  be  it  further  observed,  was 
of  a  very  sensitive  nature,  and  extremely  superstitious 
withaL  A  firm  believer  in  warnings  in  particular,  he  had 
studied  the  subject  with  all  the  ardour  of  an  enthusiast,  and 
had  become  the  admitted  Oracle  of  the  Howe  to  unravel 
their  weird-like  mystic  meaning.  When  I  add  that  his  dress 
consisted  of  white  corduroy  knee  breeches,  bright  red  plush 
waistcoat,  long  swallow-tailed  blue  coat,  with  brass  buttons, 
and  party-coloured  neckerchief ;  that  his  hair  was  brackish 
grey,  and  that  when  at  work  he  wore,  very  far  down  on  the 
nose,  a  pair  of  large  pinchbeck,  round  globed  spectacles,  you 
will  have  a  pretty  accurate  idea  of  Sandy  Alison,  the  village 
tailor. 

"  Let  us  worship  Grod,''  solemnly  said  my  father ;  and 
reverently  opening  the  Ha'  bible,  he  read  in  measured  tones, 
first  a  chapter  from  the  Old  Testament,  and  afterwards  a 
chapter  from  the  New.  Closing  the  bible,  he  was  in  the  act 
of  turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  venerated  psalm  book,  for 
the  purpose  of  selecting  a  suitable  psalm  to  be  sung  by  the 
worshippers,  when  a  strange,  unearthly  noise,  proceeding 
from  the  "  Ben-house,"  at  once  startled  us  all,  striking  terror 
and  dismay  into  every  heart.  The  sound  resembled  a  muffled 
thud,  as  if  some  heavy  body  had  fallen  with  violence  on  the 
oaken  floor. 

My  father,  the  least  superstitious  of  any  one  I  ever  knew, 
dropped  the  book  instinctively  on  the  table,  and  appeared  the 
very  personification  of  amazement  and  fear.  All  seemed 
terror-struck,  as  if  some  ominous  summons  had  come  to  them 
from  the  unseen  world.  The  tailor  was  the  first  to  break  the 
oppressive  silence. 

•*  A  waminV*  gudeman,  to  prepare  for  some  great  change, 
trial,  or  misfortune ; " — and  lowering  his  voice  to  a  hissing, 
hnsky  whisper,  he  savagely  added — "  In  the  coorse  o*  the 
neist  week,  three  things  will  happen  tae  this  hoose  which  it 
had  better  been  without.'' 


196  STRATUMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

A  long  and  painful  silence  succeeded  this  fatal,  unexpected 
prophecy. 

At  last  my  father  with  great  presence  of  mind,  rose  from 
his  seat,  took  a  candle  from  the  table,  and  slowly  walked 
towards  the  parlour  to  ascertain,  if  possible,  the  cause  of  the 
alarming  noise  which  had  so  much  distressed  us.  Cautiously 
entering  the  room,  he  looked  enquiringly  and  anxiously 
around,  but  could  not  see  or  hear  anything  which  might 
explain  the  mystery.  There  was  no  disarrangement  of  the 
furniture,  no  appearance  of  any  one  having  been  in  the  room, 
everything  remained  the  same  as  they  had  been  during  the 
day.     The  search  was  given  up  in  despair  ! 

There  was  no  resumption  of  the  family  worship,  and  all 
retired  ostensibly  to  rest,  but  in  reality  to  muse  on  the 
ominous  warning,  and  the  three  events  which  had  been  so 
solemnly  predicted  to  happen  during  the  ensuing  fatal 
week. 

Monday  and  Tuesday  passed  over  pretty  much  as  usual, 
with  this  difference,  that  a  settled  gloom  seemed  to  have 
overshadowed  the  farm  and  all  its  surroundings ;  and  while 
the  indoor  and  field  work  were  assiduously  performed,  there 
was  less  life  exhibited  by  the  workers  than  was  their  wont, 
their  thoughts  being  apparently  occupied  otherwise.  Even 
in  the  mill,  where  generally  the  utmost  hilarity  prevailed, 
the  work  of  the  day  was  gone  about  in  comparative  silence  ; 
not  a  lilt  was  sung  by  the  lasses,  not  a  joke  was  cracked  by 
the  millers.  The  only  lively  person  about  the  farm  was  the 
itinerant  tailor,  who  exhibited  all  that  anxious  feverishness, 
and  nervous  excitement  characteristic  of  those  who  impati- 
ently await  the  fulfilment  of  their  malicious  predictions. 

My  elder  brother,  David,  who  had  just  received  the  ap- 
pointment of  Land  Steward  to  the  Earl  of  De  Vesci  in  Queen's 
County,  Ireland,  had  invited  some  young  friends  to  a  day's 
shooting  in  the  glen,  previous  to  his  departure.  The  time 
appointed  being  Wednesday,  the  little  party  assembled  at 
Airniefoul  farm  on  the  early  morning  of  that  day,  and  soon 


THE  WARNING.  197 

thereafter  were  on  their  way  with  their  guns  and  dogs,  to 
the  Glen  of  Ogilvy  and  the  Sidlaw  Hills. 

Looking  out  in  the  evening  to  welcome  the  sportsmen 
home,  I  thought  I  could  descry  in  the  distance,  coming  along 
the  white  dusty  road,  a  dark  group  of  people  huddled 
together  in  a  manner  such  as  I  had  never  seen  before. 
My  father  coming  out  of  the  house  at  the  same  time,  I  called 
his  attention  to  the  circumstance. 

As  we  intently  gazed,  the  strangely  grouped  living  mass 
gradually  approached  until  we  could  distinctly  discern  what 
appeared  to  be  a  bier  covered  with  a  white  sheet,  supported 
on  the  shoulders  of  several  men  who  seemed  to  stagger  under 
their  heavy  burden. 

"  Something  has  happened  to  David,*'  wildly  exclaimed  my 
mother  who  had  come  behind  us  unobserved.  This  exclama- 
tion brought  the  whole  household  to  the  garden  gate,  from 
which  the  road  through  the  glen  could,  for  some  distance,  be 
distinctly  seen. 

It  was  an  anxious  group  that  which  looked  out  in  affec- 
tionate longing  to  the  glen,  the  most  tender  solicitude  being 
strongly  marked  in  every  countenance,  save  that  of  the 
tailor,  on  which  was  depicted  that  sinister,  eager  expression 
which  desired  anything  but — good  news. 

Nearer  and  nearer  the  mysterious  procession  came  slowly 
along  the  rugged,  winding  road.  At  the  junction  of  the 
turnpike  with  the  bye-road  leading  to  Airniefoul,  the  west 
shoulder  of  the  Hunter-Hill  with  its  dark  and  sombre  wood, 
hid  it  for  a  time  from  our  sight.  Soon,  however,  it  emerged 
again  with  awful  distinctness.  There  was  no  mistaking  the 
nature  of  that  ominous  procession  now  ! 

Amidst  the  most  oppressive,  death-like  silence,  the 
sad  assemblage  with  their  white-covered  bier,  slowly,  and 
measuredly  approach  the  farm.  One  of  the  group  is  seen 
to  disengage  himself  from  his  fellows,  and  advance  with  a 
quicker  pace  to  the  place  where  we  stood  in  the  most  painful 
state  of  suspense  and  expectancy.     My  father,  unable  to  move, 


198  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDa 

remains  rivetted  to  the  spot.  All  eyes  are  bent,  all  hearts  are 
turned  to  the  coming  messenger.  Hush  !  we  hear  the  ominous 
sound  of  his  fast  approaching  footsteps  !  A  moment  more, 
and  my  father  and  he  are  in  earnest  converse. 

"  David  shot ! " — huskily  screeched  the  tailor,  who  had, 
with  his  usual  cunning,  contrived  to  hear  every  word  that 
had  passed  between  the  messenger  and  my  father. 

True  it  was,  my  brother  was  shot,  and  that  was  his  body 
now  borne  on  a  shutter  into  the  house  of  mourning  on  the 
shoulders  of  his  youthful  and  sorrowing  comrades.  Eager  in 
pursuit  of  game,  he  was  somewhat  carelessly  carrying  his  loaded 
gun,  yet  keeping  it  in  a  position  to  fire  at  a  moment's  notice, 
when  a  rut  in  the  hill  caught  his  foot,  and  on  falling  heavily, 
the  charge  went  off,  lodging  as  it  was  supposed  in  his  lefb  side. 

When  laid  upon  the  bed,  the  first  thing  that  my  father  did 
was  to  feel  his  pulse,  while  my  mother  clasped  his  brow.  A 
moment  of  dread  suspense — and  the  joyful  words  are  heard 
alternately  from  their  lips — "  He  lives  I "  "  He  lives  !  '* 

Tenderly  undressing  him,  we  soon  discovered  the  rugged 
wound,  all  clotted  with  crimson  gore. 

"  Staunch  the  wound,"  calmly  said  my  father — "  Bathe  his 
brow  with  water — be  guided  by  circumstances  what  to  do  un- 
til my  return." 

A  few  minutes  more,  and  he  was  on  his  swift-footed  horse 
on  the  road  to  Forfar,  to  fetch  with  aU  speed  the  family  doctor. 

Fortunately  he  found  Dr  Steele  at  home ;  who,  in  an  almost 
incredibly  short  space  of  time  was  at  the  bedside  of  his 
patient. 

The  ugly  wound  was  thoroughly  examined  by  the  doctor, 
and  to  our  great  relief,  pronounced,  emphatically,  not  to  be 
dangerous. 

"  The  ball  has  passed," — said  Dr  Steele,  "  clean  through  the 
fleshy  part  of  the  thigh,  leaving  only  a  rather  serious  flesh- 
wound  to  receive  my  attention  and  care.  With  the  probing 
and  dressing  it  has  now  got,  should  the  patient  keep  free  from 
fever,  I  have  no  fear  of  the  result." 


THE  WARNING.  1 99 

All  now  breathed  more  freely,  and  a  deep  sense  of  gratitude 
to  the  Almighty  Preserver,  "with  one  exception,  pervaded  every 
heart  I  was  at  this  time  but  a  stripling,  and  not  much 
given  to  serious  reflection.  It  did  not,  however,  escape  my 
notice,  that  whereas  all  others  seemed  overjoyed  at  the  happy 
turn  the  untoward  event  had  taken,  a  shadow  of  disappointment 
rested  darkly  on  the  cadaverous  countenance  of  the  tailor. 

My  brother  passed  a  good  night  without  exhibiting  any 
symptoms  of  fever,  and  when  the  worthy  doctor  paid  his  visit 
next  afternoon,  his  patient,  though  weak  from  the  loss  of  so 
much  blood,  was  able  to  converse  with  him  as  to  the  particulars 
of  the  accident,  and  how  he  now  felt  as  giving  good  hopes  of 
his  recovery. 

The  day  following  being  the  market  day,  my  father  wishing 
to  superintend  some  rather  particular  drainage  operations 
himself,  despatched  my  brother  John  to  Dundee  to  transact 
the  necessary  business  there  ;  remaining  at  home  to  meet  the 
factor  and  land-surveyor  before  commencing  the  work  which 
was  then  quite  new,  and  almost  unknown  in  the  glen  or 
Howe. 

The  day  had  throughout  been  oppressively  sultry  and  warm  ; 
and  towards  afternoon,  dark,  murky  thunder-clouds  swept 
ominously  across  the  troubled  sky.  Darker  and  darker  grew 
the  lurid  heavens,  the  lightning  flashes  momentarily  lighting 
up  the  deepening  gloom  ;  and  the  rattling  thunder  bellowing 
in  its  wrath  among  the  hills,  startlingly  breaking  the  awful 
silence  of  the  scene,  and  shaking,  so  as  to  be  felt,  the  very 
depths  of  the  now  trembling  foundations  of  the  rocky  glen. 
The  rain  now  fell  in  torrents,  and  wildly  swept  along  by  the 
howling  winds,  every  glack  and  runnel  in  the  Sidlaws  became 
a  leaping  cataract,  or  a  rushing  stream. 

The  storm  abated  not.  The  shadows  of  evening  overspread 
the  troubled  glen — and  my  brother  came  not.  The  deep 
darkness  of  the  dismal  night  succeeded — but  he  came  not. 
The  midnight  hour  had  passed — yet  he  came  not ! 

"The  second  part  of  my  prediction  fulfilled" — triumph- 


200  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

antly  whispered  the  ever-watchful  tailor.  The  remark  fortun- 
ately was  not  overheard  by  my  father  or  mother  whose 
minds  were  too  much  occupied  to  bandy  words  with  such  a 
base  disturber  of  their  peace. 

At  day-break  my  father  was  on  his  way  to  Lumleyden  to 
endeavour  to  gather  some  tidings  of  his  missing  son  at  tlie 
hostelry  in  the  pass  which  romantically  unites  the  glenof  Ogilvy 
to  the  lowland  region  beyond.  The  storm  had  now  spent  its 
fiiry,  and  calmness  reigned  again  throughout  the  glen. 

To  my  father's  anxious  enquiries,  the  reply  at  the  toll-gate 
was,  that  my  brother  had  not  passed  on  his  way  home.  He 
had  not  been  seen  by  any  of  the  inmates  since  the  previois 
morning  when  he  rode  past  on  his  way  to  market ! 

Anxiously  awaiting  my  father's  return,  we  heard  from  his 
lips,  with  dismay  and  grief,  the  unwelcome  tidings.  My  father, 
however,  being  a  man  of  action,  his  horse  was  kept  ready 
saddled  at  the  gate ;  and  after  having  partaken  of  an 
early  and  hurried  breakfast,  he  was  soon  thereafter  on  his 
way  to  Forfar. 

The  day  passed  without  any  tidings  having  reached  us  as 
to  the  lost  brother.  Towards  evening  the  tailor — who  had 
finished  his  work  at  the  farm,  and  gone  to  Hayston  that 
morning,  to  commence  an  engagement  there, — was,  to  the 
surprise  of  everyone,  observed,  coming  at  a  rapid  rate  down 
the  road  to  AirniefouL  His  visit,  it  was  universally  surmised, 
boded  no  good,  and  every  one  was  prepared  for  the  reception 
of  evil  tidings. 

"Read  that,  lassie'* — ^hurriedly  exclaimed  the  tailor  to 
Annie  Glen,  one  of  the  servant-maids,  as  he  advanced  to  the 
middle  of  the  kitchen  where  she  stood  amongst  the  eager, 
expectant  group  of  domestics,  holding  out  to  her  at  the  same 
time,  a  tattered  and  well-thumbed  copy  of  a  local  newspaper, 
more  than  a  fortnight  old. 

Annie,  as  was  to  be  expected,  eagerly  perused  the  paragraph 
pointed  out  to  her.  She  uttered  a  wild,  hysteric  scream,  and 
fell  senseless  on  the  floor ! 


THE  WARNING.  201 

Unheeding  the  piteous  state  of  poor  Annie,  the  tailor 
snatched  the  paper  which  she  still  held  firmly  in  her  grasp, 
and  read  aloud  as  follows — "Wreck  of  the  Ocean  Queen. 
This  vessel  was  totally  wrecked  on  the  5th  instant,  on  a  coral 
reef  in  the  South  Seas,  and  it  is  feared  that  all  on  board  have 
perished." 

Jamie  Langlands,  the  betrothed  sweetheart  of  Annie  Glen, 
was  a  sailor  on  board  the  'Ocean  Queen,'  and  this  circumstance 
conclusively  accounts  for  the  sudden  and  distressing  effect 
which  the  unexpected  intelligence  had  upon  her  sensitive 
nature  and  feeling  heart. 

The  stricken  maiden,  was  not  long,  however  in  recovering 
consciousness.  Staggering  to  the  open  window,  which  looked 
out  upon  the  garden,  she  gazed  long  and  anxiously,  her 
attention  apparently  rivetted  and  fixed  upon  some  object  in  the 
far  distance.  Another  scream,  but  of  a  different  kind,  escaped 
from  her  pallid  lips.  It  was  a  scream  of  joy-  -pure,  unmiti- 
gated, triumphant  joy  1 

"  There's  either  Jamie  Langlands  or  his  ghaist " — she  cried 
— "  It  is — it  is  himseV — my  ain  dear  Jamie  ! " 

And,  sure  enough,  as  we  eagerly  gazed,  there,  on  the  road 
to  the  farm,  came  rocking  along  the  well  known  form  of 
Jamie  Langlands.  A  few  minutes  more,  and  he  and  Annie 
Glen  were  clasped  in  true  sailor-like  fashion,  in  each  other's 
warm  and  tender  embrace  ! 

The  unreflecting  tailor,  in  his  eager  anxiety  to  be  the  mes- 
senger of  ill  news,  had  apparently  forgotten,  that  there  might 
be  more  than  one  '  Ocean  Queen '  amongst  the  mercantile  navy 
of  Britain ;  and  that,  sometimes,  good  news  travels  with  as 
great  rapidity  as  bad  ! 

Notwithstanding  the  uncertainty  of  my  brother's  fate,  and 
the  consequent  gloom  still  brooding  over  our  spirits,  we  could 
not  refrain  from  sharing  in  the  general  joy,  and  joining  with 
that  of  other's,  our  congratulations  to  the  happy  lovers  with 
the  most  fervent  wishes  for  their  future  welfare. 

Scarcely  had  these  expressions  of  kindness  and  good  will 


202  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

escaped  our  lips,  when  the  clattering  of  horses'  hoofs  was 
heard,  and  two  horsemen  were  seen  trotting  briskly  up  the 
lane.  There  was  no  mistaking  their  identity.  It  was  my 
father,  and — my  lost  brother !  Except  the  invalid,  the  whole 
household  rushed  out  to  greet  them. 

"  Forgive  the  fright  I  have  given  you  " — eagerly  yet  joyously 
exclaimed  my  brother,  addressing  my  mother. — "  It  is  the  first 
time  I  have  ever  disobeyed  the  orders  of  my  father,  and  it 
shall  be  the  last.  The  explanation  is  shortly  this — Drybums, 
Little  Lour,  and  Mickle  Lour,  and  I,  had  all  met  in  Morren's 
to  dine  together  after  the  business  of  the  day,  and  prepare  for 
our  homeward  journey.  Scarcely,  however,  had  we  taken 
our  seats  at  the  table,  when  the  most  tremendous  storm  of 
thunder  and  lightning  broke  over  the  town  that  we  had  ever 
witnessed.  The  rain  came  down  like  a  cataract,  flooding  the 
streets  as  if  it  had  been  a  deluge.  Hours  passed,  and  the 
storm  raged  with  unabated  fury.  Darkness  set  in,  and  the 
feeble  lamps  began  to  twinkle  and  glimmer  in  the  rain- 
flooded,  deserted  streets.  What  was  to  be  done  1  By  unani- 
mous consent  we  judged  discretion  to  be,  at  such  a  juncture, 
infinitely  the  better  part  of  valour.  And  so  we  agreed  to 
remain  where  we  were  for  the  night,  with  the  fixed  determin- 
ation of  returning  home  as  early  as  we  possibly  could  on  the 
following  morning.  We  kept  our  promise,  but  on  the  way 
remembering  of  some  pressing  business  that  required 
immediate  attention  at  the  market  to-day  in  Forfar,  I  parted 
from  my  friends  at  the  junction  of  the  roads,  at  Tealing,  and 
proceeded  on  my  way  to  the  county  town.  Proceeding  along 
the  High  Street,  in  a  few  minutes  I  met  my  father.  He  was, 
as  you  may  well  believe,  overjoyed  to  see  me ;  and  so  after  a 
short  paternal  lecture  on  his  part,  and  a  solemn  promise  on 
mine,  never  to  disobey  orders  again,  we  transacted  the 
necessary  business  of  the  day ;  and  here  I  am  in  the  old  house 
again — David,  I  am  glad  to  hear,  is  better — but  who  is  this  1 
What!  Jamie  Langlands  V* — and  the  two  friends  most  cordially 
joined  hands,  and  warmly  congratulated  each  other  on  the 


THE  WARNING.  203 

manly  appearance  each  had  assumed  since  they  sat  in  their 
boyhood  days,  on  the  same  form,  at  Daniel  Robertson's  wee 
school  in  the  Bog. 

The  artful  conduct  of  the  tailor,  and  the  non-fulfilment  of 
his  prediction  in  regard  to  the  sailor,  having  been  communi- 
cated to  my  father,  he  led  the  way  to  the  house,  gratefully 
exclaiming  at  the  same  time,  ''  To  everything  there  is  a  season, 
and  a  time  to  every  purpose  under  the  heaven,  A  time  to  kill, 
and  a  timetoheal;  a  time  to  break  daum,  and  a  time  to  hiUd  up-, 
a  time  to  weep,  and  a  time  to  laugh  ;  a  time  to  mourn,  and  a  time 
to  dance  ;  a  time  to  embrace,  and  a  time  to  refrain  from  embra^ 
ing ;  a  time  to  love,  and  a  time  to  hate  ;  a  time  of  war,  and  a 
time  ofpeace,^' 

"There  is  still  the  awfu'  soond  to  be  accounted  for" — 
maliciously  persisted  the  crest-fallen  tailor ;  a  remark  which 
in  the  happy  throng  assembled  in  the  kitchen,  passed  unheeded 
by  all  except  my  father,  who  merely  said  in  reply — "  God 
will  bring  every  secret  thing  to  judgment,  whether  it  be  for 
good,  or  whether  it  be  for  evil." 

The  hilarity  in  the  house  became  sympathetic  in  a  high 
degree,  so  much  so,  that  the  convalescent  invalid  expressed 
an  earnest  wish  to  share  in  the  general  joy.  For  this  purpose, 
and  in  opposition  to  the  gentle  remonstrances  of  my  mother, 
he  insisted  on  being  partially  dressed,  and  placed  in  the  old 
arm-chair  by  the  cheerful  fire  which  burned  so  brightly  in  the 
cozy  parlour.  His  wishes  were  complied  with,  and  as  one 
from  the  dead,  his  heart  was  lifted  up  to  the  throne  on  high, 
in  silent  yet  heart-felt  gratitude  to  the  great  Preserver  for 
his  merciful  deliverance. 

"  Now,  goodwife," — coaxingly  said  my  father, — "  this  is  a 
night  among  nights ;  and  I  would  like  the  whole  household 
to  assemble  in  the  parlour,  and  that  you,  yourself  should 
superintend  the  happy  feast." 

"  I'll  do  that  with  a  right  good  will,  goodman  " — emphati- 
cally replied  n^y  mother — ''and  all  shall  be  seated  at  the 
table  alike ;  no  sitting  above  or  below  the  salt ;  but  all  as 


204       STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

one  happy  family  met  to  rejoice  together  in   each  other's 
happiness." 

The  damask  table-cloth  was  accordingly  laid,  and  the 
ample  repast  profusely  spread.  Doubt,  and  gloom,  and  grief 
had  given  way  to  confidence,  and  light,  and  joy.  Peace  and 
happiness  rested  lovingly  together  under  the  ancient  roof- 
tree  of  Aimiefoul. 

My  father,  regular  and  methodical  in  all  his  actions,  took 
down  the  key  from  its  accustomed  place,  and  proceeded  as 
was  his  wont  every  Saturday  evening  at  the  same  hour,  to 
wind  up  the  old  clock  which  stood  at  the  east  end  of  the 
sitting-room,  in  which  we  had  all  now  assembled.  Gently 
opening  the  door,  he  gazed  for  a  moment  in  much  surprise. 
Taking  a  candle  from  the  table,  he  peered  intently  down  to 
the  bottom  of  the  case,  from  which  he  lifted,  in  apparent 
wonderment,  one  of  the  heavy  weights  of  the  clock. 

Placing  the  weight  on  the  table  in  full  view  of  every  one 
present,  he  thus  solemnly  addressed  the  assembled  guests — 

"  Last  Sabbath  evening  in  the  midst  of  the  services  of  our 
family  worship,  a  loud,  strange,  uuearthly  sound  was  suddenly 
heard,  as  if  proceeding  from  this  room.  The  mystery  has 
remained  unexplained  until  now.  The  rusty  and  worn-out 
wire,  unable  longer  to  sustain  the  weight,  had,  in  a  moment, 
given  way,  and  down  the  heavy  body  came  on  the  oaken 
floor  with  that  supernatural  weird-like  sound,  which  so 
terribly  paralyzed  us  all.  The  cause  of  the  mysterious  noise 
is  now  satisfactorily  explained,  thus  severing  in  a  moment  the 
trying  events  of  the  by-gone  week,  with  any  superstitious 
agency  whatever.  Supposing,  however,  the  cause  had  forever 
remained  undiscovered,  that  was  no  reason  why  we,  puny 
and  insignificant  mortals,  that  we  are,  should  dare  to  interpret 
the  mind  of  the  Great  Eternal ;  far  less  to  prophesy  either 
good  or  evil  from  mysteries  in  Nature  or  Providence,  which 
we  can  neither  unravel  nor  comprehend." 

All  felt  relieved  as  if  some  heavy  burden  had  suddenly  been 
removed  from  their  oppressed  spirits,  for  while  the  painful 


THE  WARNING.  205 

incidents  of  the  week  had  all  terminated  happily,  the 
*'  Warning  *'  had,  until  now,  remained  an  unexplained 
mystery. 

All  eyes  were  now  turned  to  the  crest-fallen,  disappointed 
tailor.  He  sat  motionless  and  speechless,  crouched  and 
doubled  up  to  half  his  usual  size,  in  a  further  comer  of  the 
room,  evidently  smarting  under  the  indirect  yet  well-merited 
rebuke  just  administered  to  him,  and  ashamed  to  look  in  the 
face  those  whose  peace  of  mind  he  had  intended  to  destroy, 
and  by  whom  he  was  now  so  thoroughly  despised. 

The  homely,  yet  substantial,  feast  was  now  heartily  par- 
taken of,  and  thoroughly  appreciated ;  and  the  happy  en- 
jojrment  of  the  evening  reached  its  culminating  point,  when 
the  worthy  host  burst  forth  into  song  with  all  the  energy  and 
enthusiasm  of  his  youth  : — 

Loud  the  timbrel  sound, 

Clash  the  cymbals  high  ; 
Taber,  sackbut,  harp, 

Swell  the  minstrelsy. 

Beat  the  martial  drum, 

Blow,  ye  trumpets,  blow  ; 
Comet,  viol,  and  lute, 

Hearts  set  all  aglow. 

Kill  the  fatted  calf  ; 

Shoes,  the  golden  ring. 
Richest  jewelled  robes, 

Haste  thee  to  me  bring. 

Music  fiU  tiie  air, 

Mirth  and  song  abound  ; 
Lo !  my  lov'd  ones  lost, 

Smile  on  all  around. 

Clouds  have  passed  away, 

Storms  and  sobbing  rain, 
On  my  faithful  breast 

Rest  in  peace  again. 

To  my  heart  they  come — 

Bliss  without  alloy ; 
Chime  of  silver  bells, 

Never-ending  joy  ! 


206  STBATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Loud  the  Umbrel  souod. 

Clash  the  cymbals  high  ; 
Earth  and  Heaven  is  btcEt, 

LoT-doDesDowareiiighl 

During  the  hilarity  that  prevailed,  the  poor  tailor  had 
etunk  away  unobserved.  Whether  the  rebuke  administered 
to  him  had  had  the  effect  of  curbing  hie  propensity  to  pro- 
claim warnings,  and  prophesy  evil  tidings,  the  records  of  the 
parish  say  not.  One  thing,  however,  is  certain,  that  while 
he  peregrinated  the  Glen  as  usual,  he  never  again  ventured 
within  the  precincts  of  Aimiefoul  ! 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  SABBATH  DAY  AT  KINNETLES. 

"  Hail  Sabbath  I  thee  I  hail,  the  poor  man's  day, 
The  pale  mechanic  now  has  leave  to  breathe 
The  morning  air,  pure  from  the  city's  smoke, 
While  wandering  slowly  up  the  river's  side, 
He  meditates  on  Him,  whose  power  he  marks 
In  each  green  tree  that  proudly  spreads  the  bough, 
As  in  the  tiny  dew-bent  flowers  that  bloom 
Around  its  roots  ;  and  while  he  thus  surveys, 
With  elevated  joy,  each  rural  charm, 
He  hopes,  yet  fears,  presumption  in  the  hope, 
That  Heaven  may  be  one  Sabbath  without  end. " 

Qrahamt. 

Last  Sabbath  day  I  spent  in  a  neighbouring  city.  How 
different  the  throng  of  its  streets,  the  chime  of  its  bells,  and 
the  holiday  appearance  of  its  people,  with  the  sacred  quietness 
and  holy  serenity  which  now  reign  around  this  peaceful  glen  ! 
Some  scenes  when  they  become  too  common  pall  and  cloy  the 
appetite,  and  the  wisest  of  men's  sayings  lose  by  repetition 
half  their  value.  But  who  ever  wearies  by  gazing  on  the 
cherished  scenes  of  their  youth,  or  of  listening  to  the  hallowed 
sound  of  the  sabbath  bell  ? 

O  how  precious  is  the  rest  of  the  holy  Sabbath;  sweet 
earnest  and  foretaste  of  that  serene  and  everlasting  rest,  which 
remaineth  for  the  people  of  God  in  the  Zion  that  is  above. 
May  the  day  never  come  when  its  blessed  calm  shall  be  broken 
by  the  chariot  wheels  of  commerce  or  of  pleasure,  or  its  holy 
worship  exchanged  for  the  shout  of  merriment  and  revelry. 
Avert,  0  God  of  nations,  from  our  beloved  country,  that 
heinous  neglect  of  the  Sabbath  and  its  duties,  which,  like  the 


208  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

ever-increasing  waves  of  the  stormy  sea,  threaten  to  obliterate 
the  landmarks  of  our  fathers,  and  overwhelm  the  people  in  its 
black  and  scowling  waters. 

You  have  often,  dear  reader,  in  the  quietude  of  your  closet, 
perused  with  a  holy  delight,  the  glowing  and  extatic  raptures 
of  the  poet,  descriptive  of  Sabbath  morning  in  the  country. 
Try  now  definitely  to  realize  them. 

Look  abroad  on  the  beautiful  scenes  of  Nature,  and  then 
inwards  to  your  own  exulting  soul,  and  say  if  you  do  not  feel 
the  truth  of  the  description.  There  is  indeed  throughout  the 
domains  of  Nature,  a  universal  and  spiritual-like  repose.  Not 
only  are  the  sounds  of  rural  labour  hushed  into  silence,  but  a 
softer  hymn  cometh  from  the  golden  tinted  woods,  and  a 
lower  and  less  fretful  song  from  the  bonnie  bum  as  it  flows 
quietly  and  sweetly  by.  In  the  low  grassy  holms,  and  in  the 
flower-begemmed  meadows,  the  kine  are  quietly  feeding,  and 
on  the  upland  lea,  fragrant  with  its  white  and  purple  clover, 
the  horse  enjoys  his  much  prized  freedom,  rolling  himself  on 
the  grass  in  all  the  playful  enjoyment  of  his  liberty.  A  faint 
bleating  now  and  then  from  the  hills,  does  not  disturb,  but  is 
in  fine  keeping  with  the  general  picture  of  repose  and  happi- 
ness. 

But  much  of  this  quiet  loveliness  is  owing  to  your  own  feel- 
ings of  sacred  reverence  for  the  holy  day.  Without  these, 
even  though  the  whistle  of  the  ploughboy,  and  the  song  of  the 
milkmaid  be  mute,  the  scenes  of  Nature  would  ever  continue 
the  same.  It  is  not  Nature  that  changes,  but  man.  It  is  man, 
who,  under  divine  influence,  invests  her  on  this  day,  with 
these  holy  and  sweet  associations,^  and  attunes  her  harp  of  ten 
thousands  strings  to  the  solemn  minstrelsy  of  heaven.  It  is 
the  mind  that  throws  a  charm,  or  otherwise,  on  everything 
around  us.  The  man  whose  broken  heart  is  over-burthened 
with  grief  and  poignant  sorrow,  experiences  no  pleasure  and 
sees  no  beauty  in  the  richest  scenes  of  Nature,  but  let  the  load 
of  grief  be  removed,  and  everything  is  changed  into  beauty, 
and  joy,  and  gladness.     So  it  is  with  regard  to  the  Sabbath. 


A  SABBATH  DAY  AT  KINNETLES.  209 

With  a  heart  dead  to  all  holy  affections  and  spiritual  influ- 
ences, we  see  Nature  on  this  day,  just  the  same  as  we  do  on 
any  other  day,  and  behold  her  with  no  higher,  or  more  rever- 
ential feelings  of  emotion ;  but  let  a  live  coal  from  off  the 
holy  altar  touch  the  heart,  and  the  soul  be  strung  to  the  music  of 
heaven,  and  everything  assumes  a  new  aspect,  what  was  dark 
becoming  light  as  the  noon-day  sun,  and  every  object  sur- 
rounded as  with  a  halo  of  seraphic  glory. 

Hush  I  there  is  my  father  quietly  reading  his  bible  in  the 
arbour — come,  we  shall  not  disturb  him,  and  as  we  go,  I  may 
relate  to  you  the  simple  routine  of  our  Sabbath  day  at  Aimie- 
foul,  the  description  of  one  day  applying  to  the  first  day  of 
the  week,  with  scarcely  any  variation,  throughout  the  year. 

The  household  at  the  farm  and  mill  all  rise  just  about  as 
early  as  they  do  on  other  days;  but  no  noise  or  bustle  is 
observable ;  a  hushed  stillness  sweetly  pervades  all  their  move- 
ments.    My  father,  when  the  weather  is  fine,  reads  for  some- 
time in  the  little  summerhouse ;  or  if  otherwise,  he  seats  him- 
self for  the  same  purpose  by  the  large  kitchen  ingle  till  the 
breakfast  hour,  when  the  whole  inmates  assemble  together  as 
one  family  under  one  patriarchal  head.     A  chapter  is  then 
read,  with  an  appropriate  psahn,  or  hymn,  when  a  prayer  is 
fervently  offered  up,  embodying  confession  of  sin,  gratitude 
for  by-past  mercies,  and  supplication  for  the  guidance  and 
direction  of  the  Most  High,  during  the  services  of  the  holy 
day.     After  church  service  and  a  quiet  walk  in  the  garden,  or 
by  the  daisied  meadow  which  skirts  the  murmuring  burn,  and 
an  hour  or  two  devoted  to  the  perusal  and  study  of  some 
favourite  tome  of  divinity,  the  evening  is  closed  in  the  same 
devout  and  solemn  manner,  with  this  exception,  that  the 
psalm  or  paraphrase  is  sung  to  the  plaintive  airs  of  Martyrdom, 
or  Dundee,  or  of  some  other  old  and  favourite  tune;  and 
though  the  cadence  be  rude  and  unmelodious,  it  is,  doubtless, 
sweet  to  the  ears  of  the  God  of  Sabaoth,  who  requires  not 
orchestral  symphonies  but  the  homage  of  devout  and  believing 

hearts.     Beligion  is  not,  as  some  would  have  us  believe,  a  cold 

o 


210  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

and  gloomy  thing.  Eminently  practical,  it  enters  into  all  the 
scenes  of  life,  sweetening  our  enjoyments,  deepening  our 
affections,  hallowing  our  thoughts,  elevating  our  desires, 
soothing  our  sorrows,  and  lightening  our  cares.  It  was  in 
this  cheerful  light  that  my  revered  father  regarded  our  holy 
religion  and  its  every-day  duties,  and  hence,  instead  of  dark 
and  troubled  clouds  of  ominous  gloom  ever  brooding  mysteri- 
ously over  his  sequestered  home,  a  halo  of  sweet  and  silvery 
brightness,  ever  encircled  with  celestial  radiance  the  blessed 
spot  on  which  he,  and  his  happy  household,  dwelt. 

I  know  not,  dear  reader,  to  what  distant  lands  in  future 
years  my  footsteps  may  lead  me,  nor  to  what  sublime  Cathedral 
services  I  may  listen,  but  of  this  I  am  persuaded,  that  no 
clime  on  earth,  however  gorgeously  beautiful,  no  pompous 
ritual  however  attractive  and  fascinating,  shall  ever  erase  from 
my  heart  the  cherished  altar-scene  of  my  happy  childhood 
home,  or  hush  the  rude  music  of  its  holy  songs. 

What  heart  does  not  glow  with  the  deepest  emotion  at  the 
scene  described  by  the  unfortunate  Pringle,  when  in  the  wild 
solitudes  of  an  African  valley,  with  the  wild  beasts  of  the 
forest  as  listeners,  his  little  family  group  offered  up  praise  and 
prayer  as  they  were  wont  in  the  peaceful  glens  of  Scotland  % 
But  what  heart  can  fully  enter  into  the  feelings  of  the  lonely 
emigrants,  when  for  the  first  time  in  that  savage  wilderness, 
the  plaintive  melody  of  the  songs  of  Zion  was  borne  upon  the 
pestilential  breeze ;  what  tongue  can  tell  their  poignant  grief 
when  their  troubled  thoughts  wandered  to  the  homes  they 
had  left,  in  a  land  whose  every  association  and  remembrance 
entwined  themselves  around  their  heart-strings  the  firmer  and 
the  closer  the  further  their  feet  wandered  from  its  much  loved 
shores ! 

And  by  a  natural  ti-ansition,  remember  the  constancy  of  the 
Jews  in  captivity. — "  By  the  rivers  of  Babylon,  there  we  sat 
down,  we  wept  when  we  remembered  Zion.  We  hanged  our 
harps  upon  the  willows  in  the  midst  thereof.  For  there  they 
that  carried  us  away  captive  required  of  us  a  song ;  and  they 


A  SABBATH  DAY  AT  KINNETTLES.  211 

that  wasted  us  required  of  us  mirth,  saying,  sing  us  one  of  the 
songs  of  Zion.  How  shall  we  sing  the  Lord's  song  in  a  strange 
land  ]  If  I  forget  thee,  0  Jerusalem,  let  my  right  hand  forget  its 
cunning,  if  I  do  not  remember  thee  let  my  tongue  cleave  to  the 
roof  of  my  mouth ;  if  I  prefer  not  Jerusalem  above  my  chief 

joy." 

But  'tis  now  near  the  hour  of  prayer,  and  the  Sabbath  bell 
will  soon  break  in  silvery  sweetness  over  our  peaceful  glen. 
Already  some  of  our  people  are  skirting  the  wood  on  their 
way  to  the  House  of  God.  As  we  follow  in  a  little  family 
group,  let  us  observe  the  hilly  road  before  us  crowded  with 
anxious  travellers,  clad  in  glowing  and  not  unpicturesque 
costumes,  all  pressing  onwards  to  worship  in  the  distant 
village  church.  The  top-boots  of  the  farmer,  and  the  red 
plaid  and  snood  of  the  cottar  are  there,  blended  with  the 
dazzling  colours  of  the  "  gudewife's  "  newest  dress,  the  bright 
tints  of  the  scarlet  plush  of  the  ploughman's  habili- 
ments, and  the  gaudy  hues  of  the  flaunting  ribbons  of  the 
sweet  and  bonnie  lasses.  Every  homestead  in  the  glen,  every 
lonely  cot  on  the  hill-side,  sends  its  quota  of  devout 
worshippers. 

Beautiful  Sabbath  morning  1  We  wend  our  way  midst 
wayside  flowers  and  golden  sunshine,  melody  of  hymning 
brooks  and  woodland  birds,  along  the  white  and  dusty  road ; 
now  on  the  upland  lea  'mong  bleating  lambs,  anon  in  shady 
groves  of  beech  and  elm,  on  through  the  hazel  copse  and 
gowand  holm,  the  mountain  streamlet  murmuring  at  our  feet, 
reflecting  on  its  tremulous  bosom  the  passing  vision — pilgrims 
on  the  march,  by  smiling  faces,  silvery  voices  cheered  of  God- 
sent  happy  children, — each  starting  far  from  different  points 
yet  all  arriving  glad  beneath  the  same  blest,  sacred  roof  at 
last.  Beautiful  emblem  of  the  true  church  of  Christ,  divided 
into  many  sects  and  parties  setting  out  on  their  Zionward 
march  from  many  different  points,  and  pursuing  their  way  by 
many  different  paths,  but  all  gathering  into  one  happy, 
glonons  company  at  the  gates  of  Paradise  ! 


212  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

We  have  now  reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  as  we  slowly 
pace  along  by  Hayston  and  Foffarty,  we  can  admire  at  our 
leisure  the  magnificent  panorama  of  hill  and  dale,  which 
stretches  away  in  surpassing  beauty  to  the  foot  of  the 
Grampians  on  our  left.  The  Hunter  Hill  on  the  west  and  the. 
hiU  of  Kinnettles  on  the  east,  necessarily  considerably  circum- 
scribe the  view  of  the  Howe,  but  the  effect  produced  on  the 
mind  is  just  the  more  exhilarating  and  sublime  by  reason  of 
its  contraction.  Sweetly  reposing  in  the  hollow  amidst 
umbrageous  woods  and  daisied  meadows,  the  mansion-house  of 
Brigton  appears  from  this  point  of  view  in  all  its  simple  and 
primitive  beauty.  The  sloping  lawns  of  Invereighty  so  green 
and  pleasant  to  tlfte  sight,  stretch  smilingly  away  by  sylvan- 
fringed  copses  to  the  east;  while  the  pretty  village  of 
Kinnettles  with  its  church  and  manse,  its  '*  ancient  mill, "  and 
little  school  nestles  peacefully  by  the  banks  of  the  Kerbet, 
beneath  the  friendly  shadow  of  its  beautifully  wooded  hill  on 
the  nortL  Amidst  its  dark  and  gloomy  forests,  the  red 
embattled  towers  of  Lindertis  gleam  brightly  in  the  morning 
sun ;  the  steeples  of  Kirriemuir  in  the  distance,  shaded  some- 
what by  the  great  dark  quarried  rock,  opaquely  crowned  with 
gloomy  stunted  pine  behind,  standing  sharply  out  in  bold 
relief  against  the  clear  blue  sky ;  the  sparkling  peat  streams, 
like  winding  threads  of  silver,  meandering  to  their  own  soft 
music,  in  the  lovely  valley  between.  Bleak  and  grim  in  the 
far  north,  the  lofty  Grampians  tower  upwards  towards  heaven 
in  all  their  majesty  and  grandeur ;  black  Cam-a-month,  and 
snow-capped  Mount  Blair  looking  down  mysteriously  from 
their  mist-enshrouded  thrones  as  if  charged  from  spirit  land 
with  some  portentous  message  to  the  thoughtless  and  unreflec- 
tive  inhabitants  below. 

Crossing  now  the  swift  flowing  Kerbet,  by  a  little  rickety 
wooden  bridge,  we  are  kindly  greeted  by  my  old  and  worthy 
schoolmaster  Mr  Daniel  Robertson,  of  Kinnettles,  for  in  that 
little  school,  yonder,  did  I  con  the  first  elements  of  learning. 
Dear  spot !  ever  sacred  shalt  thou  be  to  me,   and  oft  re- 


A  SABBATH  DAY  AT  KINNETTLES.  2 1 3 

membered  fondly  in  after-life,  and  as  often  as  the  cherished 
picture  is  recalled  to  my  memory,  will  appear  in  the  midst 
thereof  the  form  and  expression  of  the  venerable  man  who 
first  opened  to  me  the  gates  of  knowledge. 

Now  we  are  pacing  among  the  tombs.  What  a  holy  in- 
structive place  is  a  country  churchyard !  We  see  old  and 
decaying  sepulchres,  quaint  and  rude  inscriptions  in  the 
cemetery  of  the  crowded  city,  as  well  as  in  the  lonely 
burying-ground  of  a  sequestered  Highland  glen.  But  here, 
for  ages,  have  the  members  of  the  same  family  been  succes- 
sively buried  in  the  same  grave,  the  same  spot  of  earth  thus 
becoming  a  resting-place  for  several  generations.  In  many  a 
surrounding  homestead  as  in  my  own  ancestral  line,  son 
succeeds  father,  and  brother  succeeds  brother,  it  may  be  for 
centuries,  and  to  the  same  narrow  house  do  they  quickly 
succeed  each  other  in  the  dark  and  Silent  Land.  With  the 
German  poet  Klopstock,  we  fervently  exclaim  : — 

"  How  they  bo  softly  rest, 
All,  all  the  holy  dead, 
Unto  whose  dwelling  place 
Now  doth  my  soul  draw  near  ! 
How  they  so  softly  rest 
All  in  their  silent  graves, 
Deep  to  corruption 
Slowly  down-sinking ! 

"  And  they  no  longer  weep. 
Here,  where  complaint  is  still ! 
And  they  no  longer  feel, 
Here,  where  all  gladness  flies  ! 
And,  by  the  cypresses 
Softly  o'ershadowed. 
Until  the  Angel 
Galls  them,  they  slumber  ! " 

What  a  pleasant  thought  that  you  will  sleep  the  last  long 
sleep  in  the  grave  of  your  fathers,  and  that  your  ashes  will 
congenially  mix  with  kindred  dust !  How  comforting  to  look 
every  sabbath-day  on  that  little  green  hillock;  to  become 
familiar  with  your  own  grave,  begemmed  in  summer  with 


214  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

butter-cups  and  daisies,  around  which  the  butterflies  spread 
their  silken  wings,  and  the  humming  bees  drowse  luxuriously 
among  their  honied  sweets  !  How  consoling  the  thought  that 
when  you  are  quietly  sleeping  beneath  that  grassy  mound, 
the  flowers  you  loved  so  well  will  bloom  above  you,  and  the 
birds  you  so  delighted  to  hear  will  sing  around  you  ;  yet  more 
consoling  still,  that  friends  will  fondle  these  flowers,  and 
bless  these  birds  for  your  sake ;  and  every  Sabbath  day  will 
look  upon  your  grave,  and  think  of  you,  and  speak  about  you, 
and  vividly  realise  the  time — not  far  distant — when  they 
shall  be  gently  laid  in  the  same  narrow  house  beside  you  ! 

How  different,  dear  reader,  may  be  your  fate  and  inine ! 
The  time  is  at  hand  when  we  must  go  forth  into  the  world 
to  brave  its  dangers  and  its  temptations,  its  sorrows  and  its 
trials,  and  we  may  wander  many  a  weary  mile,  see  the  strange 
scenes  of  many  a  strange  land,  and  drink  of  the  waters  of 
many  a  strange  river,  ere  our  earthly  pilgrimage  be  ended. 
But  our  grave — where  shall  t^  be  1  In  the  pestilential  swamps 
of  Africa,  or  on  the  burning  plains  of  Hindostan;  on  the 
solitary  prairie  of  America,  or  on  the  ice-bound  coast  of 
Labrador ;  in  the  crowded  cemetery  of  the  city,  or  in  the 
depths  of  the  ever-surging  sea  ?  We  cannot  tell !  Alas  !  our 
sad  fate  it  may  be  to  experience  the  poignant  feelings  of  the 
sick  and  lonely  exile,  far  from  country,  far  from  friends, 
dying  in  solitude  among  strangers,  who,  when  he  knows 
the  approach  of  death  cannot  be  averted,  nor  his  poisoned 
shafts  turned  aside,  turns  his  face  to  the  wall  and  breathes  a 
hopeless  wish  that  he  may  be  buried  in  the  grave  of  his  fathers  ! 

But  the  church-bell  has  ceased.  Let  us  now  reverently 
enter  the  House  of  God.  How  sacred  and  holy  we  feel  the 
place  to  be  where  we,  in  early  childhood,  first  offered  up 
praise  and  prayer  from  pure  and  loving  hearts,  to  the  Most 
High  God,  the  great  Omniscient  Author  of  our  being,  the 
Guide  and  Counsellor  of  our  youth  !  Impressions  made  on 
the  young  and  tender  heart  are  seldom,  if  ever,  effaced  in 
after-life.     How  supremely  important,  therefore,  they  be,  right 


A  SABBATH  DAT  AT  KINNETTLES.  215 

religious  impressions,  which,  though  sometimes  choked  well 
nigh  to  extermination,  by  the  cares  and  pleasures  or  riches  of 
the  world,  will  ultimately  flourish  in  healthful  luxuriance  and 
beauty. 

The  service  ended,  we  now,  amidst  kind  words  and  smiling 
adieus,  turn  our  faces  homewards ;  and  as  we  journey  leisurely 
on  our  way,  it  may  not  be  out  of  place  or  uninstructive,  to 
give  expression  to  our  feelings  and  convictions  in  regard  to 
the  subject  matter  of  the  discourse  to  which  we  have  just 
listened,  from  our  worthy  parish  minister.  The  theme  was 
in  the  abstract,  Foreign  Missions,  and  eloquently  and  power- 
fully .did  he  plead  their  cause.  To  me,  however,  a  trans- 
parent fallacy  seemed  to  run  through  all  his  arguments,  for  I 
have  always  most  firmly  held  the  opinion  that  the  true  spirit 
of  Christianity  is  best  exemplified,  in  the  first  instance,  in  the 
home  circle  of  our  family  and  friends,  gradually  extending  its 
benign  influence  to  our  neighbours  and  countrymen  in  general. 
Nay,  more,  I  hold  that  the  Christian  most  lamentably  fails  in 
his  duty,  who,  while  he  opens  his  purse-strings  to  support, 
and  makes  every  sacrifice  to  extend,  the  field  of  Foreign 
Missions,  neglects  or  ignores  the  confessed  spiritual  destitu- 
tion which  reigns  on  every  hand  around  him,  in  his  native 
land. 

Let  an  exhibition  be  got  up  for  the  sale  of  fancy  work ;  a 
subscription  set  a-foot;  or  a  public  meeting  convened,  for 
the  purpose  of  swelling  the  treasury  of  our  foreign  missions, 
and  what  sacrifices  we  see  made,  what  generosity  displayed, 
and  what  thrilling  eloquence  is  poured  forth,  until  heaven 
and  earth  seem  stirred  and  aroused  by  the  commotion  !  Yet, 
that  gorgeous  array  of  finery  may  be  displayed  in  the  same 
city,  where  hundreds  and  thousands  of  our  fellow -creatures  are 
naked,  houseless  wanderers,  without  a  place  whereon  to  lay 
their  head ;  these  princely  subscriptions  are  given,  it  may  be 
from  the  same  locality  where  many  are  pining  with  hunger, 
nay,  actually  dying  for  want  of  the  common  necessaries  of 
life  3  and  these  rushing  strains   of  eloquence   may   almost 


216       STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

penetrate  to  the  dark  and  dismal  hovels,  where  countless 
throngs  of  our  own  countrymen  are  wallowing  in  vice  and 
crime,  and  from  which  may  be  heard  the  reproachful  and 
bitter  cry — "  No  man  careth  for  our  souls." 

I  venture  to  assert,  that,  if  but  a  tithe  of  the  vast  sums 
expended  on  foreign  missions  were  applied  to  the  excavation 
and  enlightenment  of  the  heathen  in  our  own  land,  the  arid 
deserts  and  moral  wastes,  which,  in  spite  of  all  our  boasted 
advancement,  everywhere  encompass  us,  would,  under  the 
blessing  of  the  Most  High,  soon  assume  the  gladdening 
appearance  of  fertility  and  beauty  ;  the  deadly  and  pesti- 
lential atmosphere  be  purified  by  the  cheering  and  invigorat- 
ing light  of  the  gospel;  and  the  loud  universal  hymn  of 
praise  and  thanksgiving  be  heard  throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  our  beloved  land. 

I  know  it  is  said,  and  believe  truly  said,  that  those  who 
are  the  warmest  supporters  of  foreign  missions,  are  generally 
the  most  zealous  promoters  of  home  schemes  of  reformation. 
But  that  the  efforts  made  in  behalf  of  the  latter,  are  in  any  way 
commensurate  to  the  necessitous  nature  of  the  case,  let  the 
revenae  for  home  and  foreign  missions  of  our  various  churches 
and  societies  testify.  Surely  the  soul  of  a  Scotchman  is  as 
precious  and  as  worthy  to  be  saved  as  that  of  an  African 
Negro,  or  of  a  South  Sea  Islander.  Nay,  does  not  the  charm 
of  country  and  of  home  throw  an  additional  interest  over  the 
former  )  It  is  delightful  to  read  of  the  triumph  and  success  of 
the  far-distant  missionary,  and  to  receive  r^ular  tidings  of 
the  little  Indian  boy  and  girl  who  are  being  reared  in  the 
paths  of  virtue  and  holiness  by  our  instrumentality.  But,  O  ! 
surely  it  is  not  less  delightful  to  follow  in  the  rugged  pathway 
of  the  Christian  philanthropist,  as  he  ministers  of  the  bread 
and  water  of  life  to  those  who  are  bone  of  our  bone  and  flesh 
of  our  flesh,  and  to  see  with  our  own  eyes,  the  reclaimed  and 
happy  urchins  in  the  Ragged  School,  and  mark  the  progress 
of  our  little  foundling  as  he  scans  the  elements  of  Christian 
knowledge ! 


A  SABBATH  DAY  AT  KINNETTLES.  217 

To  be  a  Christian  is  to  love  with  brotherly  affection  all 
mankind.  But  there  are  degrees  of  love.  A  man  has  not, 
and  cannot  have,  the  same  affection  for  a  stranger  as  he 
feels  for  those  of  his  own  household.  The  patriot  has  not, 
and  never  can  have,  the  same  undying  love  for  his  adopted 
country,  as  he  has  for  his  own  father-land.  Religion,  when 
it  enters  the  soul,  hallows  and  ^deepens,  instead  of  eradicating 
or  weakening  these  emotions. 

Were  we  to  cast  this  shining  pebble  into  yon  calm  and 
peaceful  lake,  the  tremulous  ripple  would  begin  where  the 
stone  had  sunk,  imperceptibly  increasing  further  and  further 
from  the  spot,  till  the  wide  bosom  of  the  lake  heaved  and 
vibrated  in  sympathetic  unison.  So  it  is  with  Christianity. 
Seated  in  the  heart,  the  Christian's  heart  affections  flow  out, 
first  to  those  of  his  family,  or  his  own  household,  yet  gradually 
and  surely  extending  its  influence,  until  the  whole  human 
race  are  encompassed  with  its  holy,  and  vivifying,  and  ever- 
lasting love. 

But  let  me,  and  those  who  conscientiously  think  with  me, 
not  be  misunderstood.  We  depreciate  not  the  labours  of  the 
missionary  in  other  lands,  nor  wish  his  sphere  of  usefulness 
abridged.  On  the  contrary,  we  hail  with  joy  every  accession 
to  the  ranks  of  those  devoted  men,  who,  leaving  country  and 
friends,  and  the  comforts  and  happiness  of  social  and  civilized 
life,  to  brave  the  dangers  of  distant  climes,  ought  ever  to 
receive  our  warmest  gratitude.  We  do  not  wish  for  less  of 
missionary  zeal,  but  only  for  more  heart-felt  interest  and 
anxious  efforts  on  behalf  of  our  own  country-men.  We  do 
not  think  less  of  the  pioneer  of  the  Cross,  as  he  discourses 
of  the  Saviour  on  the  sandy  deserts  of  Africa,  or  on  the  burn- 
ing plains  of  Hindostan ;  but  we  think  more  of  the  humble 
missionary  prayerfully  and  perseveringly  pursuing  his  tor- 
tuous way  along  the  dark  alleys  and  dismal  streets  of  our 
large  cities,  braving  reproach,  disease  and  death,  that  he  may 
win  souls  to  Christ.  We  love  not  a'Duff  or  a  Williams  less — 
we  only  love  a  Chalmers  and  a  Guthrie  more. 


218  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

As  a  fitting  sequel  to  these  reflections  on  the  good  man's 
discourse,  may  we  not  now  enquire  into  the  causes  of  the  de- 
cline of  sacred  music  in  our  Scottish  Churches,  as  you  could  not 
but  have  been  most  forcibly  struck  to-day  with  the  extreme 
bauchness,  and  the  very  cold,  and  inefficient  state  of  this  part 
of  the  service.  In  general  the  persons  appointed  to  lead  the 
psalmody,  and  the  great  majority,  if  not  nearly  all  of  the 
members  and  adherents  of  our  congregations  in  the  country, 
come  to  the  sanctuary  on  the  Sabbath  day,  with  little  or  no 
preparation  whatever  for  that  part  of  the  service  in  which  only 
they  are  permitted  to  engage,  the  reasons  in  most  instances 
being,  that  the  latter  cannot  learn  what  the  other  is  utterly 
incapable  of  communicating,  the  former  being  often  destitute 
even  of  an  ear  for  music,  and  oftener  entirely  ignorant  of  the 
very  first  elements  of  the  science. 

It  was  not  always  so.  Music  was  cultivated  under  express 
divine  sanction  in  the  Jewish  Church,  and  from  the  time  of 
David  held  a  high  place  as  part  of  the  public  worship  of  God. 
When  David  was  old  and  full  of  years,  the  number  of  the  Le- 
vites  above  thirty  years  of  age,  was  thirty-eight  thousand,  and 
out  of  this  number  four  thousand  praised  the  Lord  with  the 
instruments  which  he  had  made.  The  Songs  of  Solomon,  his 
successor,  we  are  informed,  were  one  thousand  and  five,  and 
all  his  arrangements  for  the  celebration  of  public  worship 
were  on  a  scale  of  even  greater  magnificence  than  those  of 
David.  These  were  not  mere  Jewish  appointments.  Devo- 
tional singing  was  earlier  than  Judaism,  as  is  seen  in  the 
hymn  of  praise  sung  by  Moses  and  Miriam  on  the  shores  of 
the  Red  Sea.  It  is  as  early  as  the  creation  itself,  for  when 
the  copestone  thereof  was  laid,  ''The  morning  stars  sang 
together  and  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy." 

The  spiritual  priesthood  under  the  New  Testament,  per- 
petuated the  appointment  of  praise  as  the  duty  of  the  whole 
church, — "  That  they  should  shew  forth  the  praises  of  Him 
who  hath  called  them  out  of  darkness  into  His  marvellous 
light. "    Jesus  Himself  sang  an  hymn  with  His  disciples  on  the 


I 


A  SABBATH  DAY  AT  KINNETTLES.  219 

night  in  which  He  was  betrayed.  Paul  in  his  epistle  to  the 
church  at  Corinth,  says, — "  when  ye  come  together,  every  one 
of  you  hath  a  psalm."  He  exhorts  the  Colossian  Church,  also, 
to  ''admonish  one  another  in  psalms,  and  hymns,  and 
spiritual  songs/' 

Approaching  our  own  day,  D' Aubign6  says — "  The  souls  of 
Luther  and  his  contemporaries,  elevated  by  faith  to  the  most 
subhme  contemplations,  roused  to  enthusiasm  by  the  dangers 
and  struggles  which  incessantly  threatened  the  infant  church, 
inspired  by  the  poetry  of  the  Old,  and  the  hope  of  the  New 
Testament,  soon  began  to  pour  out  their  feelings  in  religious 
songs,  in  which  poetry  and  music  joined,  and  blended  their 
most  heavenly  accents,  and  thus  were  heard  reviving  in  the 
sixteenth  century,  the  hymns,  which,  in  the  first  century, 
soothed  the  sufferings  of  the  martyrs.  Many  were  the  hymns 
composed,  and  rapidly  circulated  among  the  people,  and 
greatly  did  they  contribute  to  arouse  their  slumbering 
minds." 

Calvin  and  Knox  were  both  enthusiastic  lovers  of  music, 
the  former  establishing  the  singing  of  psalms  as  a  distinguished 
and  important  part  of  public  worship  ;  and  the  latter  com- 
piling a  work  on  sacred  music  to  give  an  increased  impetus  to 
the  general  cultivation  of  the  divine  science.  And  until 
lately  psalmody  was  cultivated  with  much  success,  and  was 
universally  popular  in  our  own  country.  Calderwood  relates 
the  return  of  John  Durie  to  Edinburgh,  thus  : — "  As  he  was 
coming  from  Leith  to  Edinburgh,  upon  tuesday  the  fourth 
September,  there  met  him  at  the  Gallow  Greene  two  hundredth 
men  of  the  inhabitants  of  Edinburgh.  Their  number  still 
increased  till  he  came  within  the  Nether  Bow.  There  they 
beganne  to  sing  the  124th  Psalme,  'Now  Isrraelmay  say,'  &c., 
and  sang  in  foure  parts,  knowne  to  the  most  of  the  people. 
They  came  up  the  street  till  they  came  to  the  Great  Kirk, 
singing  all  the  way  to  the  number  of  two  thowsand." 

It  thus  appears,  that  in  the  Jewish  and  New  Testament 
Churches,  as  well  as  in  ihe  churches  of  the  Reformation,  in 


220  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

this  and  other  lands,  the  place  assigned  to  praise  as  a  part 
of  the  worship  of  God,  was  distinguished  and  prominent,  and 
that  every  exertion  was  used  by  kings,  priests,  and  ministers, 
to  encourage  and  keep  alive  in  the  minds  of  the  people,  the 
glowing  flame  of  divine  song. 

Why  has  it  declined  to  its  present  miserably  low  state 
amongst  the  churches  in  Scotland  1  Why  is  so  little  interest 
taken  in  the  cultivation  of  sacred  music  in  an  age  conspicuous 
above  all  others,  for  its  rapid  advancement  in  philosophy  and 
literature,  in  science  and  art  1  Has  the  worship  of  God  lost 
any  of  its  charms,  or  the  Songs  of  Zion  any  of  their  sweet- 
ness )  Alas,  alas !  In  this  romantic  land  of  poetry  and  song, 
with  its  deeds  of  glory  and  of  fame  strung  to  the  loftiest 
strains  of  national  music,  and  sung  with  enthusiastic  rapture, 
on  every  hill-side  and  in  every  glen,  the  sublime  praises  of 
Divine  Worship  are  either  in  a  languid,  cheerless  state,  or 
altogether  neglected ;  no  joyous,  well-sustained,  melodious 
hymn  of  gladness  rising  like  the  hallelujahs  of  heaven  from 
the  Sanctuary  of  the  saints  on  earth. 

What  shall  we  say  then  to  break  the  slumbering  apathy  and 
arouse  the  minds  of  our  countrymen  to  their  former  ardour 
and  enthusiastic  love  of  the  sweet  Songs  of  Zion  1  Shall 
we  exclaim  with  Baxter — "  A  choir  of  holy  persons  singing 
melodiously  the  praises  of  Jehovah,  are  most  like  the  angelical 
society.*'  Or  with  Edwards — "As  it  is  the  command  of 
God  that  all  should  sing,  so  all  should  make  conscience  of 
learning  to  sing,  as  it  is  a  thing  which  cannot  be  decently 
performed  at  all  without  learning.  Those,  therefore,  who 
neglect  to  learn  to  sing,  live  in  sin."  With  Luther — "  I 
verily  think,  and  am  not  ashamed  to  say,  that  next  to  divinity 
no  art  is  comparable  to  music ; ''  or  join  with  him  in  singing 
his  own  sublime  hymn — 

"  Eine  vaste  burg  ist  unaer  Gott " — 
Our  God  is  a  strong  towsr. 

Or,  leaving  man's  saying,  shall  we  quote  the  injunctions 


A  SABBATH  DAY  AT  KINNETTLKS.  221 

and  admonitions  of  Holy  Writ] — "Let  the  people  praise 
Thee,  O  Lord ;  let  all  the  people  praise  Thee.  Then  shall 
the  earth  yield  her  increase,  and  God,  even  our  own  God, 
shall  bless  us.*'  "  Praise  the  Lord,  for  the  Lord  is  good  : 
sing  praises  unto  His  name,  for  it  is  pleasant."  '*  Let  us  come 
— make  haste — before  His  presence  with  thanksgivings,  and 
make  a  joyful  noise  unto  Him  with  Psalms.*' 

But  a  divine  vision  now  floats  before  my  entranced  and 
dazzled  eyes  : — Heaven  with  its  unspeakable  glories  unfolds  it- 
self to  view — with  jewelled  harps  and  crowns  of  gold,  on  sunny 
wings  the  angels  fly — ^arrayed  in  robes  of  white,  and  wear- 
ing diadems  of  glory,  redeemed  ones  tread  the  golden  streets 
of  Paradise -softly  o'er  its  amber  bed  flows  the  river  of  life 
among  the  groves  of  amaranth — celestial  music  fills  and 
ravishes  my  soul — in  holy  unison  my  heart  vibrates  with 
sweet  exulting  joy — and  hark !  a  voice  cometh  out  of  the 
throne  saying— "Praise  our  God,  all  ye  His  servants,  and  ye 
that  hear  Him,  both  small  and  great." — ^And  I  hear,  "  as  it 
were  the  voice  of  a  great  multitude,  and  as  the  voice  of  many 
waters,  and  as  the  voice  of    mighty  thunderings,   saying, 

*  ALL£LUJAH  :   FOR  THE  LORD  GOD  OMNIPOTENT  REIGNETH !  * " 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

LUCY   JOHNSTONK 

PART  I.— SUNSHINE. 

So  sure  as  God  doth  reign  on  high, 

Controlling  this  world's  destiny, 

Shall  conscience  sting  that  guilty  breast, 

Nor  g^ve  his  troubled  spirit  rest ; 

Recalling  oft  her  wasted  form, 

Swift  flitting  through  the  raging  storm  ; 

Rehearsing  in  his  troubled  dreams 

Her  wild-like  shouts  and  piercing  screams, 

And  picturing  dark  that  desolate  hearth, 

From  which  hath  fled  the  joys  of  earth. 

The  farm  and  mill  of  Aimiefoul,  the  birthplace  of  the 
writer,  is  pleasantly  situated  in  the  extreme  east  corner  of 
the  Glen  of  Ogilvy.  Surrounded  on  all  sides  by  a  mountainous 
belt  of  hills,  the  lonely  glen  is,  apparently,  completely 
isolated  from  the  outer  world.  Yet,  it  is  not  so.  The 
county  town  is  within  a  few  miles  distance,  and  populous 
hamlets  and  villages  encompass  it  on  all  sides;  while  the 
Howe,  or  Valley  of  Strathmore,  stretches  away  in  its  sylvan 
beauty  beyond ;  the  long  rugged  range  of  the  Sidlaw  Hills 
grim  towering  dark  between. 

It  was  now  autumn ;  the  fields  in  their  golden  yellow  were 
ripening  luxuriantly  for  the  sickle ;  and  all  was  bustle  and 
preparation  at  Aimiefoul  for  the  approaching  harvest.  A 
re-union  of  two  loving  and  trusting  hearts  had  just  taken 
place  within  its  precincts.  Kate,  the  only  daughter  of  the 
worthy  farmer,  and  Jeanie  Morison,  a  former  school  com- 
panion in  a  neighbouring  city,  had  met  the  evening  before 
after  a  separation  of  many  years,  the  latter  the  invited  guest 


LUCY  JOHNSTONK  223 

to  Aimiefoul,  to  partake  for  a  time  of  its  simple  hospitalities 
and  rural  pleasures. 

Kate,  it  may  be  observed,  was  some  years  the  elder  of 
Jeanie.  She  was  of  a  warm  and  genial  temperament,  yet 
apparently  saddened  in  heart  by  some  early  disappointment, 
which,  however,  infused  a  pensive  sweetness  to  her  voice,  and 
a  solemn  melody  to  her  words,  very  attractive  and  winning 
especially  in  one  who  combined  the  inward  qualities  of  a 
cultivated  mind,  with  all  the  external  graces  of  comeliness 
and  beauty. 

The  landscape  around  her  mountain  home  was  not  only 
beautiful  in  picturesque  and  attractive  scenery,  but  from  its 
close  connection  with,  and  immediate  proximity  to,  Glamis,  % 
was  also  rich  in  classic  associations  and  legendary  lore.  Uer 
great  delight,  therefore,  had  latterly  been  to  muse  over  the 
wizard  and  fairy  tales  of  by-gone  times,  and  to  treasure  up 
in  her  heart  whatever  was  romantic  or  interesting  in  the 
more  unheeded,  yet  not  less  momentous  scenes  of  every  day 
life.  And  this,  not  from  the  mere  love  of  the  marvellous, 
but  with  an  anxious,  fixed  desire  to  extract  some  moral  or 
useful  lesson  from  all  that  was  happening  around  her. 

On  the  morning  after  Jeanie  Morison's  arrival  at  Airnie- 
foul,  the  two  friends  were  walking  arm  in  arm  by  the  banks 
of  the  little  streamlet  that  murmurs  round  the  homestead, 
when  Kate,  ever  anxious  to  communicate  whatever  had  profit- 
ably impressed  herself,  thus  addressed  her  companion  : — 

^*  This  balmy  morning  so  bright  and  beautiful  seems  to 
invite  us  to  wander  over  the  glen.  But  whither  shall  we 
bend  our  footsteps  ?  You  see  that  lonely  cottage  on  the  brow 
of  the  hill,  the  sun  shining  bright  on  its  white-washed  walls, 
and  partly  overshadowed  with  a  clump  of  stately  elms  1 
There  is  a  sad  story  of  domestic  misery  connected  with  that 
cot ;  a  blight  has  come  over  its  once  joyous  and  happy 
hearth.  Let  us  seat  ourselves  on  this  mossy  bank  and  I 
will  tell  it  thee ; — 

''Adam  Johnstone,  the  late  occupant  of  the  cottage,  was, 


224:  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

for  many  years  Grieve  or  Overseer  of  the  neighbouring  farm 
of  Hayston,  to  whom  the  proprietor,  who  did  not  reside 
on  the  estate,  entrusted  the  full  management  of  its  affairs. 
A  most  diligent  and  faithful  ^servant,  ever  alive  to  the 
interests  of  his  employer,  was  honest  Adam  Johnstone.  He 
superintended  the  farm,  bought  and  sold,  engaged  and  dis- 
charged servants,  as  if  the  whole  were  his  own  property, 
every  transaction,  however  small,  being  negotiated  with  the 
most  scrupulous  fidelity.  Honesty  had  its  reward  in  the 
unswerving  confidence  of  his  employer,  and  the  good  wishes 
and  respect  of  all  who  knew  him.  The  minister  and  session 
of  the  parish,  with  the  unanimous  concurrence  and  approval 
of  the  congregation,  elected  him  cordially  to  the  eldership, 
an  office  which  he  faithfully  though  unostentatiously  filled 
for  a  longer  term  of  years  than  had  ever  fallen  to  the  lot  of 
any  of  his  compeers.  Yet  all  this  prosperous  and  happy 
time,  he  sought  not  the  applause  of  men,  but  the  possession 
of  a  good  conscience,  and  a  single  eye  to  rectitude  and  truth. 
"  Janet,  his  sonsie  helpmate,  was  in  every  respect  a  suitable 
wife  to  Adam  Johnstone.  Active,  industrious,  frugal,  inven- 
tive, making  ^auld  claes  look  maist  as  weel  as  new,'  she 
kept  a  warm  and  cosy  hearth,  the  envy  of  many  a  gudewife 
in  the  glen  with  double  the  means  without  being  able  to 
bring  about  the  same  result.  Her  kitchen  or  but  end  was 
kept  as  scrupulously  clean  as  a  Dutch  cottage;  she  was  always 
scouring  away  at  chairs,  tables,  buggies,'  and  all  the 
et-ceteras  of  her  sanctum  ;  and  then  her  capacious  hearthstone 
and  large  roomy  ingle,  how  white  and  beautiful !  The  roof 
was  hung  round  with  dainty  sized  hams  and  rolls  of  bacon 
all  her  own  curing,  while  her  clean -kept  dairy  was  full  of 
large  earthen  dishes  brimful  of  nice  rich  milk  for  the  making 
of  butter  and  cheese,  at  which  she  was  quite  an  adept,  and 
which,  on  market  days,  she  disposed  of  herself  in  the 
neighbouring  town.  The  parlour  or  ben  house  was  a  mirror 
of  neatness  and  comfort.  The  floor  scoured  clean  and  white, 
and  covered  over  with  a  slight  sprinkling  of  glistering  sand 


LUCY  JOHNSTONE.  225 

from  the  bonnie  bum;  the  chairs,  table,  and  cupboard  of  bright 
varnished  oak,  with  the  mahogany  eight  day  clock  ticking 
cheerily  behind  the  door,  gave  the  whole  quite  an  air  of  rural 
independence.  On  the  white-washed  walls  hung  several  gaudily 
coloured  prints  without  frames,  descriptive  of  Wallace  and 
his  exploits ;  or  the  re-union  of  loves  long  estranged,  with 
the  village  church  in  the  distance ;  the  cupboard  filled  with 
the  glowing  china  tea  set,  used  only  now  on  rare  and  high 
occasions ;  and  the  sunny  recess  of  the  little  diamond-paned 
window  adorned  with  the  gaudily  painted  parrot  in  its 
stucco  cage.  On  the  mantelpiece  were  placed  several  non- 
descript figures  of  porcelain  bedecked  with  peacock's  feathers, 
and  long  strings  of  birds'  eggs  fantastically  hung  round  the 
whole,  while  on  the  mahogany  chest  of  drawers  lay  the  big 
Ha'  bible  with  the  shorter  and  larger  Catechism,  the  Con- 
fession^ of  Faith,  Hervey's  Meditations,  Pilgrim's  Progress, 
and  Guthrie's  Christian's  Great  Interest 

''But  Adam  and  Janet  were  now  surrounded  by  much 
more  interesting  objects  than  these.  Sweet,  healthy,  olive 
plants  grew  around  their  table,  destined  in  time  to  be  either 
a  blessing  or  a  crown  of  thorns  to  their  aged  heads.  Four 
beautiful  children,  three  boys  and  one  girl,  made  their  lonely 
cot  a  little  paradise ;  and  it  was  Adam's  delight  when  the 
labours  of  the  day  were  over,  to  work  in  his  little  garden 
with  all  his  laughing  children  around  him ;  or  to  train  the 
honeysuckle  and  jessamine  on  the  porch  and  walls  of  his 
cottage,  while  they  bedecked  themselves  with  the  pretty 
blossoms  which  he  threw  down  amongst  them  ostensibly  as 
useless  for  his  purpose,  but  in  reality  that  he  might  see  their 
sunny  ringlets  clustered  with  their  bloom,  and  listen  to  their 
ringing  merry  laughter  ever  so  sweetly  dear  to  a  father's 
heart.  In  the  long  winter  evenings  he  would  tell  them  the 
story  of  Joseph  and  his  brethren,  till  their  little  cheeks  were 
wet  with  tears j  or  romp  with  them  at  "hide-and-seek,"  or 
•*  blind  man's  buff,"  till  warned  by  Janet  it  was  time  to  **  gie 
ower  their  daffin/'  when  they  would  all  gather  round  him  to 


226  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

say  their  evening  prayers ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  house         ^ 
would  be  still  and  silent,  the  lovely  sleepers  each  on  his  1 

little  pillow,  a  perfect  picture  of  innocence  and  beauty.  ^ 

"The  Saturday  holiday  has  an  irresistible,  inexpressible 
charm  for  every  schoolboy,  but  to  those  at  a  remote  country 
school,  it  possesses  a  double  charm.  There  are  so  many 
little  excursions  to  make,  sights  to  see,  friends  to  visit,  that 
it  is  always  looked  forward  to  with  delight,  and  enjoyed  with 
the  rarest  pleasure.  The  youngsters  at  Woodbine  Cottage 
were  now  attending  school,  and  as  they  were  our  nearest 
neighbours  they  and  the  young  people  belonging  to  Aimi©- 
foul  were  in  the  constant  habit  of  going  to,  and  returning 
from  Kinnettles'  school  together.  On  these  occasions  many 
were  the  excursions  we  planned,  and  the  exploits  we  pro- 
jected. None,  however,  afforded  me  greater  pleasure  than 
to  spend  the  afternoon  at  Adam's  cottage,  and  to  take  a 
"  dish  o'  tea  "  in  his  cozy  kitchen.  Then  Janet  was  in  all 
her  glory,  her  grey  wincey  gown  tucked  neatly  up  behind, 
her  massive  broad-winged  cap  as  white  as  driven  snow,  and 
her  blooming  sonsie  face  all  radiant  with  sunny  smiles ;  the 
hearthstone  and  "  jams "  newly  "  calmed,"  a  large  log  fire 
blazing  in  the  ingk,  a^d  the  burnished  t4  kettle  singing  on 
the  "  sway."  Then  the  table  was  duly  placed  in  the  middle 
of  the  nicely  sanded  floor,  on  which  were  laid  the  "tea 
dishes,"  with  pyramids  of  oaten  cakes  and  flour  "scones," 
nice  fresh  butter  and  "groser  jam."  Some  of  the  urchins 
who  had  been  watching  without  would  now  enter  in  breath- 
less haste  with  the  joyful  announcement  that  "Father  was 
coming."  We  would  then  all  hasten  out  to  welcome  him 
home,  and  Adam  would  then  enter  the  cottage  with  a  little 
elf  on  each  arm,  and  the  rest  somewhat  jealous,  all  clinging 
round  him,  but  it  took  some  little  time  to  satisfy  by  many  > 

marks  of  affection,  that  they  all  equally  shared  his  love* 

"  There  was  one,  however,  in  this  little  group  always  more 
conspicuous  than  the  rest  in  her  eager  and  childlike  attention 
to  her  father,  who  in  his  turn  caressed  and  fondled  her  with 


LUCY  JOHNSTONE.  227 

apparently  more  warmth  of  affection  than  any  of  her  little 
brothers.  This  was  Lucy.  With  her  ruddy  cheeks  and 
hazel  eyes,  and  light  sunny  curls  she  was  as  pretty  a  little 
nymph  as  one  could  look  upon.  A  wild  little  imp  too  was 
Lucy,  always  doing  a  great  many  tricks  at  other  people's 
expense.  Yet  being  the  only  girl  in  the  family,  we  were 
never  very  severe  upon  the  culprit,  who,  to  do  her  justice, 
when  fairly  taxed  with  her  misdeeds,  never  denied  that  of 
which  she  knew  she  was  really  guilty.  This  was  a  beautiful 
trait  in  her  then  embryo  character,  which,  developing  itself 
in  after  life,  made  her  the  very  personification  of  truthfulness, 
a  virtue  beautiful  in  all,  but  priceless  and  incomparable  in 
woman.  Then  she  was  not  childish ;  she  had  a  courage  and 
fortitude  far  above  her  years;  nor  selfish,  for  she  would 
have  shared  any  or  everything  with  her  playmates;  nor 
capricious,  for  her  friendship  and  love  were  steady  and  un- 
changing. Although  a  slight  feeling  of  jealousy  might  occa- 
sionally spring  up  in  our  little  breasts,  at  any  marked,  and 
as  we  might  have  supposed,  uncalled  for  attention  bestowed 
on  Lucy,  the  cloud  soon  passed  away,  leaving  the  horizon 
purer  and  brighter  than  before.  We  all  loved  Lucy;  her 
father  tenderly  and  dearly ;  and,  although  then  a  mere  girl, 
I  have  often  detected  his  eyes  following  her  every  movement 
in  our  romping  games,  and  when  not  missed  by  the  others, 
have  seen  her  seated  on  his  knee,  his  hard  bony  fingers 
pla3dng  with  her  waving  curls,  while  a  low  voice  would 
tenderly  whisper, — "  My  ain  Lucy." 

"  Two  circumstances  which  occurred  in  my  girlhood,  served 
indelibly  to  impress  on  my  mind  the  features  and  expression 
of  Lucy,  circumstances  which  I  will  doubtless  often  recall  in 
after  life,  as  mementoes  of  early  years.  We  had  all  planned 
a  blaeberry  excursion  for  a  Saturday  in  the  latter  end  of  July, 
to  the  Hunter  Hill  which  you  see  rising  yonder  immediately 
behind  the  farm  of  Aimiefoul.  It  was  a  lovely  morning  when 
we  all  mustered  on  the  green  meadow  beside  the  Mill,  with 
our  burnished  flagons  to  contain  the  united  proceeds  of  our 


228  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

individual  gatherings.  After  receiving  sundry  admonitions 
to  keep  well  together,  and  not  fall  out  hj  the  way,  and  having 
been  duly  marshalled  in  regular  marching  order  by  the  good- 
natured  miller,  we  began  our  journey  in  the  highest  spirits. 

"  Over  the  bum  we  crossed,  and  away  among  the  lofty  pines 
we  rambled,  shouting  loudly  as  we  went,  to  the  no  small 
amazement  of  honest  Keynard,  who,  thinking  a  pack  of 
hounds  had  got  on  his  track,  broke  cover  in  fine  style,  and 
bounded  away  with  swift,  yet  stealthy  steps  across  the  hill. 
Even  a  majestic  deer  would  now  and  then  start  from  the 
brushwood  in  affright,  but  discovering  the  puny  foes  with  whom 
he  imagined  he  had  to  contend,  would,  in  utter  contempt, 
kick  his  heels  in  the  air,  and  walk  leisurely  and  proudly  away 
till  lost  to  sight  by  the  thick  entangling  brushwood.     All  the 
while,  little  Lucy  kept  close  by  my  side  as  her  legitimate  pro- 
tector, for  I  had  promised  to  her  parents  to  be  her  faithful 
guide,  and  to  return  her  to  them  in  safety.     She  was  only 
then  seven  years  of  age,  and  as  she  toddled  by  my  side,  occa- 
sionally looking  up  slyly  into  my  face  with  an  expression  of 
gratitude  and  happiness,  I  felt  my  young  heart  beat  with 
excusable  pride,  that  such  a  dear  little  lovely  sylph  had  been 
committed  to  my  care  and  keeping.     As  we  wandered  on, 
now  in  a  deep  mossy  dell,  anon  on  a  high  broomy  knoll,  I 
would  gather  for  her  the  tallest  and  most  beautiful  of  the  blue 
and  purple  bells,  or  pluck  the  variegated  ferns  to  adorn  her 
sunny  ringlets,  or  quickly  pull  a  few  of  the  wild  raspberries 
which  temptingly  hung  around  our  path,  till  we  at  last 
became  very  good  friends  indeed,  so  m'uC^  so  that  no  induce- 
ments could  entice  her  to  leave  my  side  e^ii^n  for  an  instant. 
Sometimes,  as  the  great  lofty  pines  overheauyhook  their  far- 
stretching  branches  in  the  breeze,  now  tremuloSl^  &nd  faint  as 
the  notes  of  distant  music,  then  loud  and  boistekous  like  the 
voice  of  approaching  thunder,  she  would  suddenl^Mtop  and 
gaze  upwards  with  an  expression  of  fear  and  awe  till  re!*^^^^^ 
by  some  gentle  word,  she  would  tremblingly  take  my  j5P^^» 
and  move  onwards  as  before.     Often  since  then  have  I  c^~ 


I 


LUCY  JOHNSTONE.  229 

jectured,  what  were  the  thoughts  that  passed  through  the 
mind  of  that  timid  child  as  these  giant  old  harpers  struck  their 
thundering  harps.  To  my  own  soul  their  notes  were  ever  as 
the  music  of  the  spheres,  suggestive  of  spiritual  influences, 
and  visions  of  glory.  Did  the  tender  strings  of  her  little 
heart  vibrate  in  sympathetic  unison  with  mine  1  Was  a  passing 
glimpse  of  spiritual  existence  vouchsafed  to  her  startled  soul 
as  she  intently  gazed  on  the  azure  sky  far  beyond,  and  above 
these  harping  pines ) 

''  Loud  shoutings  and  clapping  of  hands  from  the  vanguard 
of  our  troop  now  announced  the  joyful  intelligence  that 
the  blaeberry  ground  had  been  reached  at  last,  and,  sure 
enough,  there  were  the  bright  green  bushes  hanging  thick 
with  the  much  prized  purple  fruit,  at  sight  of  which  little  Lucy 
forgot  her  gravity,  and  clapped  her  little  hands  in  excess  of 
joy.  We  again  marshalled  our  forces,  sending  some  to  the 
right,  and  some  to  the  left,  while  a  few  went  forward  as 
pioneers  of  the  unexplored  regions  beyond.  As  for  Lucy  I 
judged  it  the  safer  plan  to  give  her  a  very  limited  boundary 
wherein  to  range  about  for  the  exercise  of  her  exploring  pro- 
pensities ;  so  placing  her  down  on  a  knoll  in  a  sunny  opening 
of  the  wood  where  the  berries  were  ripe  and  plentiful,  assign- 
ing to  her  a  certain  fixed  limit,  over  the  verge  of  which  she  was 
not  to  pass,  and  giving  her  the  tiniest  vessel  to  fill  against  our 
return,  I  cheerily  pushed  along  among  the  pioneers,  not  how- 
ever before  announcing  that  our  ultimate  rendezvous  was  to 
be  the  '  Fiery  Pans,'  a  well  known  spot  on  the  top  of  the  hill. 

"  The  berries  were  ripe  to  perfection,  and  the  crop  luxuriantly 
large,  so  that  with  the  shouting  of  captains  in  battle  we  filled 
our  capacious  flagons  to  overflowing,  having  at  the  same  time 
made  a  rich  feast  to  ourselves  as  we  gathered  ;  for,  while  we 
kept  one  eye  steadily  on  the  vessel,  we  as  steadily  kept  the 
other  on  our  own  pleasure,  ever  remembering,  no  doubt  with 
great  self-satisfaction,  that  the  workman  is  worthy  of  his  hire. 
The  word  was  given — *To  the  Fiery  Pans,'  and  as  the  feast 
of  blaeberries,  instead  of  allaying,  had  rather  increased  our 


230  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

hunger,  and  with  our  luxurious  picnic,  of  bread  and  cheese  and 
milk,  in  prospect,  to  the  Fiery  Pans  assuredly  we  scampered, 
not  by  any  means  in  regular  file,  but  in  strangely  crooked  and 
zigzag  movements  resembling  rather  the  straggling  of  an  army 
beating  a  retreat,  than  victorious  conquerors  announcing  a 
victory.  The  last  straggler  had  appeared  on  the  summit  of 
the  hill,  and  our  little  party  sat  down  without  any  ceremony, 
eager  to  discuss  our  wallet&  The  cakes  and  milk  had  just 
been  introduced,  when,  as  with  one  voice,  we  all  exclaimed — 
'Lucy!  Lucy!  where  is  Lucy]'  Like  one  demented  I 
rushed  down  the  hill  not  knowing  whither  I  went  or  where  to 
go;  my  conscience  smote  me  so  violently,  that  filled  with 
remorse  and  grief,  1  hardly  knew  what  I  was  doing.  The  rest 
of  our  party  following  with  anxious  and  hasty  steps,  immedi- 
ately saw  the  necessity  for  decisive  and  active  measures  being 
instantly  taken,  for  the  sun  was  declining  in  the  west ;  and 
the  shadows  of  the  trees  fell  heavily  on  the  ground.  Our 
little  party  was  now  organized  and  speedily  on  our  different 
routes,  shouting  and  hallooing  at  the  top  of  our  voices,  if  so 
be  the  lost  Lucy — now  dearer  than  ever — might  hear  and 
answer  our  cries.  What  agony  I  endured,  what  remorse  I  felt 
since  my  cruel  and  inexcusable  neglect  had  been  the  cause  of 
this  grief;  and  how  it  might  end,  I  was  afraid  to  contemplate, 
the  image  of  the  little  lost  Lucy  ever  rising  reproachfully 
before  me,  goading  me  on  to  despair.  For  hours  we  continued 
to  search  every  dell  and  hollow,  every  rising  knoll  and  opening 
of  the  wood.  Our  voices  were  now  hoarse  with  shouting,  and 
our  eyes  were  dim  with  tears,  and  I  shall  never  forget  the 
look  of  blank  and  hopeless  despair  which  overshadowed  every 
face  of  our  little  group  as  we  all  again  met  without  having 
obtained  the  object  of  our  search.  In  my  despair  I  gave  her  up 
for  lost,  and  walking  slowly  and  sadly  on,  we  came  suddenly 
upon  an  opening  in  the  wood,  which  we  had  not  hitherto 
explored.  I  looked  anxiously  down  from  the  hill  on  which 
we  stood  and  to  my  amazement  and  great  joy  remembered  this 
as  the  place  where  I  had  left  Lucy,  and  perceived  the  coloured 


LUCY  J0HN8T0NK.  231 

handkerchief,  which,  as  a  mark  by  which  I  might  know  the 
place  again,  I  had  tied  to  the  highest  branches  of  the  bushes, 
still  hanging  where  I  had  left  it.  Frantic  with  joy,  I  shouted 
*  Lucy '  and  bade  them  follow,  and  down  the  hill,  and  over 
the  hollow  we  rushed,  when,  breathless  with  anxiety,  we  stood 
at  last  beside  the  very  spot  where  I  had  left  her.  Beckoning 
tkem  to  be  quiet,  and  remain  where  they  were,  I  cautiously 
advanced,  and  there,  in  a  little  mossy  hollow  between  some 
Uaeberry  bushes,  lay  the  form  of  the  little  lost  one,  reclining 
sweetly  in  the  arms  of  sleep.  My^heart  palpitated  with  exult- 
ing joy  as  I  gazed  on  the  lovely  sleeper,  and  felt  my  anxiety  and 
grief  for  her  sake  were  now  over.  She  seemed  to  have  scrupul- 
ously obeyed  my  injunctions,  not  to  wander  from  the  prescribed 
limits ;  her  httle  flagon  was  full  of  fruit,  and  it  would  seem 
she  had  awaited  our  return,  till,  overpowered  by  the  heat, 
she  had  fallen  asleep.  And  there  she  lay,  dear,  sweet  little 
elf,  a  bunch  of  moss  for  her  pillow,  her  head  recHning  gently  on 
her  hand,  her  golden  ringlets  flowing  dishevelled  over  her 
shoulders,  and  her  plump  cheeks  well  besmeared  with  the 
purple  juice  of  the  blaeberry.  I  need  not  tell  you  what  a 
joyful  awakening  it  was  to  Lucy,  nor  how  merrily  we  threaded 
our  homeward  way  among  the  still  sighing  pines,  nor  with 
what  pride  and  joy  I  delivered  over  my  little  pet  lamb  to  the 
safe  fold  of  her  doting  parents." 

''And  what  was  the  other  incident,  Kate ?" 
''  The  other  circumstance  to  which  I  alluded,  occurred  when 
Lucy  was  eleven  years  of  age.  It  was  a  dreary  day  in  winter, 
dark  scowling  clouds  were  driving  through  the  sky  chasing 
each  other  like  demons  intent  on  mischief;  and  the  wild  bluster- 
ing winds  howled  and  bellowed  along  the  glen,  shaking  the 
bending  trees  with  resistless  power  and  fury.  I  had  gone  up 
the  hill  as  usual  to  spend  the  Saturday  afternoon  in  Adam's 
cottage,  and  felt  sorry  my  little  favourite  Lucy  was  absent, 
having  gone  to  Kinnettles  on  some  necessary  household  duties. 
We  romped  and  gambolled  about  as  usual,  but  sadly  missed 
the  fairy  form,  and  ringing  silvery  voice  of  our  little  favourite. 


232  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

There  was  a  vacuum  felt  in,  and  silently  acknowledged  by. 
each  little  heart,  which  cast  a  damper  over  our  frolicsome 
pastimes,  so  that  it  was  by  the  greatest  effort  our  childisk 
games  could  be  pursued  or  kept  up  at  all.  At  last  our  merri- 
ment fairly  died  out  of  itself,  and  as  with  one  consent,  w3 
gathered  in  a  group  at  the  door  of  the  cottage,  to  watch  thd 
threatening  storm.  Just  at  this  moment,  a  strange  murkf 
darkness  overspread  the  dreary  glen ;  a  deceitful  calm  settle! 
for  a  moment  on  the  face  of  the  sky,  and  a  mysterious, 
suspicious  hush  came  over  the  conflicting  elements,  foreboding 
darkly,  yet  surely,  the  coming  tempest.  There  we  stood,  with 
the  anxious  mother  in  the  midst  intently  gazing  on  the  gather- 
ing tempest,  feeling  a  strange  unearthly  sensation  of  unpend- 
ing  desolation,  and  all  thinking  of  dear  much  loved  Lucy,  and 
earnestly  longing  for  her  return.  Blacker  and  blacker  grew 
the  threatening  heavens,  and  more  oppressively  settled  the 
saddening  silence,  when  the  feathery  snowflakes  silently  and 
softly  began  to  fall  hiding  first  the  surrounding  hills  from  our 
view,  and  latterly  obscuring  every  landmark  in  the  glen. 

"'A  snow  storm,'  cried  Janet  convulsively  wringing  her 
hands,  '  Lucy,  Lucy  !  what  will  become  of  Lucy  1 '  Thicker, 
and  thicker  fell  the  driving  snow,  and  darker,  and  blacker  grew 
the  deepening  gloom,  the  depressing  silence  only  broken  at 
long  intervals  by  the  whirring  flight  of  the  moorland  birds  seek- 
ing vainly  for  shelter  from  the  feeding  storm.  Our  little  hearts 
trembled,  and  our  spirits  gave  way,  and  the  hot  tears  began 
to  trickle  down  our  cheeks  as  we  looked  into  each  other's 
faces  with  all  the  varied  expression  of  grief  and  despair, 
feeling  some  overwhelming  calamity  was  about  to  overtake 
us.  Janet  seemed  to  have  entirely  lost  her  presence  of  mind, 
and  by  her  frantic  gestures  and  melancholy  cries,  only  served 
to  encrease  tenfold  our  bitter  distress. 

'*  I  now  volunteered  to  go  in  search  of  Lucy,  and  was  just 
preparing  to  put  my  purpose  into  execution,  when  a  dark 
figure  was  dimly  seen  advancing  in  the  direction  of  the  cottage. 
As  it  slowly  approached,  it  soon  became  evident  it  was  not 


LUCY  JOHNSTONE.  233 

the  form  of  Lucy.  Still,  we  held  our  breath  in  eager  ex- 
pectation, and  in  a  few  moments,  Adam  Johnstone  entered 
the  cottage. 

"  '  Lucy !  Lucy,  our  dear  Lucy,'  frantically  exclaimed 
Janet,  rushing  into  her  husband's  arms,  and  sobbing,  like  a 
child.  *  Let  us  put  our  trust  in  God :  He  will  temper  the 
wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,'  was  Adam's  solemn  reply,  and 
gently  disenga^ng  himself  from  her  wild-like  embrace,  he 
hastily  threw  his  plaid  around  his  brawny  shoulders,  took 
down  his  rustic  staff,  called  his  faithful  dog,  drew  his  bonnet 
over  his  brow,  and  cautioning  us  not  to  leave  the  cottage,  till 
his  return,  he  left  with  a  steady  step,  and  was  soon  lost  to 
sight  in  the  thickening  snow* 

"  So  calm,  yet  quick,  had  been  his  movements,  that  it  was  not 
till  his  darkly  receding  figure  had  entirely  disappeared  that  I 
remembered  my  resolution  to  go  in  search  of  Lucy.  Without 
communicating  my  intention  lest  I  might  be  prevented  from 
leaving  the  cottage  in  terms  of  Adam's  injunctions,  I  slipped 
quietly  from  the  group,  and  before  any  obstacle  could  be 
thrown  in  my  way,  was  bounding  down  the  glen. 

"  I  had  gone  a  considerable  way  without  finding  any  trace 
of  Adam,  and  soon  regretted  the  rash  step  I  had  taken  in 
blindly  rushing  into  danger,  without  any  reasonable  hope  that 
I  would  ever  reach  the  object  of  my  search.  I  stood  still 
amidst  the  falling  snow,  and  in  utter  helplessness  burst  into 
tears.  Just  at  this  moment  the  flakes  fell  less  frequently, 
and  became  gradually  smaller  in  size  till  they  ceased  altogether, 
and  the  setting  sun  shone  brightly  upon  the  grey  leaden  sky, 
illuminating  the  dreary  glen  by  his  welcome  light.  At  a 
short  distance  stood  Adam  in  wild  amazement  at  my  unex- 
pected appearance,  and  when  I  joyfully  rushed  to  him  for 
protection,  he,  at  first,  seemed  inclined  to  chide  me  for  my 
rashness,  but  so  tenaciously  and  tenderly  did  I  cling  to  him, 
telling  him  that  I  must  go  with  him  to  seek  for  Lucy,  that 
his  brow  at  last  relaxed,  and  his  frown  passed  away,  as  he 
gently  covered  me  with  his  plaid,  grasped  warmly  my  tremb- 


234  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

ling  hand,  and  bade  me  take  courage  for  the  Lord  would  yet 
restore  to  us  our  dear  lost  Lucy.  '  This  is  only  a  blink  before 
the  storm/  said  Adam,  and  we  hastily  pursued  our  way. 

''  The  flakes  of  snow  again  began  to  fall,  the  sun  went  down 
in  darkness,  and  bleak  and  dreary  grew  the  troubled  sky. 
The  winds,  which  had  for  sometime  slept  in  ominous  silence, 
now  roused  into  frantic  wrath,  shook  their  shaggy  manes 
to  the  storm,  dancing  on  in  their  thundering  vengeance  and 
desolating  fury,  driving,  and  tossing,  and  wheeling  into 
maddening  eddies  the  light  and  feathery  snowflakes,  and 
shaking  the  surrounding  hills  from  their  very  foundations. 
No  wonder  my  young  heart  trembled,  and  my  feeble  limbs 
shook  with  fear,  but  Adam  kept  my  hand  firmly  clasped  in 
his,  and  if  it  shook  too,  it  was  not  for  fear  of  the  whirlwind 
or  the  tempest,  but  for  the  weak  helpless  lamb  now  wandering 
in  the  wilderness  far  from  her  own  loved  sheltered  fold. 
Thicker  fell  the  blinding  snow,  and  drearier  grew  the  hopeless 
night,  yet  on  we  went  amidst  the  storm  supported  safely 
by  an  unseen  hand. 

" '  Lucy  must  have  long  since  left  the  village,'  said  Adam 
solemnly,  '  yet  she  could  not,  I  think,  have  passed  this  spot.' 

"  *  But  you  forget,  Adam,'  I  replied,  *  that  the  snow  is  deep, 
and  the  night  is  dark.' 

" '  True,  true,  poor  Lucy  has  doubtless  lost  her  way.  May 
the  Lord  have  mercy  on  her.' 

'* '  List,  Adam,  I  hear  a  distant  sound — a  sound  as  it  were 
of  music.     Listen— do  you  not  hear  it ) ' 

'^ '  I  do  hear  a  strange-like  pleasing  sound,  but  it  is  not  like 
a  human  voice — something  spiritual,  I  fear.' 

"  *  Yes,  Adam,'  said  I  joyfully,  '  It  is  a  human  voice,  and  I 
know  the  soft  notes  of  that  pensive  song.' 

**  Still  nearer  and  nearer  came  the  pleasing  sound,  until  at 
last  we  distinctly  heard  these  plaintive  words. 

0  wearily  I  wander 

O'er  dreary  glen  and  wold, 
All  blacker  grows  the  darkness 

Which  hides  me  from  my  fold. 


LUCY  JOHNSTONE.  235 

To  Thee,  0  Gkxl,  Jehoyah, 

The  sorrows  of  my^breast 
I  tell,  for  Thou  wilt  hear  me. 

And  give  my  spirit  rest. 

For  me  there  is  no  coffin, 

The  snow  will  be  my  shroud, 
While  Angels  hover  round  me, 

Like  a  bright  celestial  cloud. 

0  wearily  I  wander 

O'er  dreary  glen  and  wold, 
Through  this  increasing  darkness 
*  Find  not  can  I  my  fold. 

"  The  snowflakes  suddenly  ceased,  the  moon  shone  forth  in 
soft  and  silvery  brightness  ;  a  moment  more,  and  I  and  Lucy 
were  rapturously  clasped  in  each  others  arms. 

^*  Need  I  tell  the  sequeL  How  old  Adam  embraced  again 
and  again  his  little  daughter ;  and  how  she  related  to  us  as 
we  went  joyfully  homeward,  how  long  after  she  had  hopelessly 
wandered  among  the  snow,  the  idea  suggested  itself  of  singing 
as  loudly  as  she  could  in  the  faint  hope  of  her  voice  reach- 
ing the  ears  of  those  who  might  be  sent  from  the  cottage  in 
search  of  her ; — how  Janet  met  us  frantic  with  joy  at  the  door 
of  the  cottage,  and  how  all  the  little  ones  clung  round  their 
beloved  sister,  refusing  for  sometime  to  be  parted  from  her." 

''  I  can  easily  imagine,  Kate,  the  joyous  and  happy  scene," 
quietly  said  Jeanie,  ''  but  you  seem  to  have  had  a  melancholy 
pleasure  in  relating  or  rather  dwelling  on  these  interesting 
incidents  in  Lucy's  early  life  while  I  was  all  impatience  and 
anxiety  to  hear  the  sequel'* 

**  Yes,  my  dear  friend,  you  have  penetrated  my  real  feelings. 
Every  picture  of  life  has  its  bright  and  its  dark  side.  I  love 
to  dwell  on  the  one,  but  fear  to  turn  to  the  other.  I  have  no 
heart  at  least  to  dwell  on  the  dark  side  of  this  picture.  But 
as  we  are  invited  to  drink  tea  this  evening  at  the  manse  to- 
morrow I  will  tell  it  thee.'* 


236  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDa 


PART  II.— THE  DESTROYER. 

"  It  strikes  me,  my  dearest  friend/'  cheerfully  said  Kate 
next  morning,  "  you  begin  to  like  our  country  life.  You  have 
probably  from  childhood  been  so  accustomed  to  the  gay  circle 
of  city  life  that  this  change  to  rural  scenes  and  primitive 
customs  and  habits  has  the  greater  effect  on  your  sensitive 
nature.  And  you  have  been  so  gentle  and  silent  too ;  more 
anxious  apparently  to  listen  than  to  join  in  conversation,  which 
with  your  natural  amiability  and  cultivated  talents  you  could 
possibly  so  much  adorn.'* 

"  Yes,  Kate,"  Jeanie  replied,  "  I  came  rather  to  be  a  listener 
than  a  prominent  speaker,  for  well  knowing  your  powers  of 
description,  warm  affections,  and  still  warmer  heart,  I  antici- 
pated learning  much  during  my  brief  visit  to  Airniefoul,  and 
I  have  not  been  disappointed." 

"  Dearest  Jeanie,  you  flatter  me  too  much,  for  the  fact  is, 
this  glen,  the  surrounding  hills,  the  villages,  the  castles,  the 
lochs,  the  moors  of  this  and  the  adjoining  parishes  are  so  rich 
in  poetic  and  historic  lore,  that  although  you  were  to  prolong 
your  stay  at  Aimiefoul  for  a  full  twelvemonth,  I  would  be 
unable  to  exhaust  their  treasures." 

"  Then  let  us  make  the  most  of  our  time,  Kate.  I  am  all 
impatience  to  hear  the  sequel  of  the  story  of  Lucy  Johnstone." 

''Let  us  seat  ourselves  then  in  this  quiet  arbour  in  the 
garden,  and,  as  briefly  as  I  can,  I  will  tell  it  thee : — 

"  Lucy  Johnstone  had  reached  her  nineteenth  year  when  a 
young  man,  the  son  of  a  merchant  prince  of  a  neighbouring 
sea-port  town,  came  to  reside  at  the  farm  of  Hayston  for  the 
purpose  of  being  instructed  by  Adam  Johnstone  in  the  practi- 
cal science  of  agriculture,  previous  to  his  departure  to 
Australia  to  take  possession  of  a  large  tract  of  land  purchased 
for  him  by  his  father. 

"Walter  Ogilvy  was  a  younger  son,  and  much  beloved 


LUCY  JOHNSTONE.  237 

by  both  his  parents.  With  good  average  natural  abilities 
he  united  warm  and  generous  affections,  being  rather  a 
favourite  than  otherwise  with  the  friends  of  his  younger  days. 
As  he  grew  up  to  manhood,  however,  whether  from  the  over- 
indulgence of  his  parents,  or  the  development  of  innate  pro- 
pensities hitherto  lying  concealed,  he  began  gradually  to  ex- 
hibit feelings  of  restless  discontent,  and  a  desire  to  distinguish 
himself  in  some  more  extended  and  more  congenial  sphere 
than  the  counting-house  of  his  father,  in  whose  service  he  had 
been  for  some  years.  Mistaking,  what  might  only,  after  all, 
have  been  a  mere  dislike  to  parental  authority,  and  the  dull, 
monotonous  routine  of  methodical  duty,  for  the  secret  stirrings 
of  a  noble  and  genuine  ambition,  his  worthy  father  and  too  in- 
dulgent mother  unitedly  came  to  the  abrupt  conclusion,  that  the 
profession  of  the  law  was  a  much  more  suitable  and  congenial 
profession  for  their  recreant  son ;  and,  forthwith  without 
much  consultation  with  him  on  a  matter  of  which  they  believed 
themselves  the  better  judges,  they  proceeded  to  put  their 
darling  project  into  execution.  An  old  friend,  the  law  agent 
in  Edinburgh  of  the  firm,  was  appealed  to  with  such  effect, 
that  within  one  month  from  the  time  the  scheme  was  first 
entertained  all  the  preliminaries  preparatory  to  Walter's  com- 
mencement of  the  study  of  the  law,  were,  in  the  technical 
phrase  of  the  profession,  '  signed,  sealed,  and  delivered,'  and 
our  hero  duly  installed  in  his  comfortable  lodgings  on  the 
second  flat  of  a  highly  respectable  house  in  Pitt  Street  in  the 
New  Town. 

"When  I  suddenly  drop  the  curtain  on  his  career  in  Edin- 
burgh, by  at  once  and  honestly  telling  you,  that  he  was 
neither  more  nor  less  than  what  is  charitably  and  considerately 
termed,  'a  spoiled  child,'  with  no  fixed  principles  in  his 
head,  and  plenty  of  gold  in  his  pocket,  you  can  at  once  imagine, 
what,  in  its  details,  that  career  had  been.  At  the  time  of 
which  I  speak,  drunkenness  was  in  the  northern  capital  the 
rule,  sobriety  the  exception.  Hard  drinking  particularly 
distinguished  the  habits  of  the  middle  and  upper  classes  of 


238  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

society.  No  business  of  any  kind  could  be  transacted  without 
drink.  Judges  drank,  advocates  drank,  physicians  drank, 
ministers  drank,  shop-keepers  and  tradesmen  drank.  Ko 
wonder  then  such  a  reckless  youth  as  Walter  Ogilvy  fell  into, 
and  was  carried  off  by  the  vortex.  His  hours  of  study  became 
few  and  far  between,  and  the  purlieus  of  Potterrow  and  the 
Cowgate,  became  gradually  more  familiar  to  him  than  the 
more  aristocratic  lounges  of  Princes  Street,  or  George  Street. 
He  had  formed  the  acquaintance, — ^we  cannot  call  ties  formed 
in  such  circumstances,  by  the  sacred  name  of  friendship — of 
other  too  young  men,  equally  wild,  irresolute,  and  thoughtless 
as  himself,  whose  parents  being  also  rich,  had  liberally  supplied 
them  hitherto  with  funds.  The  drafts  however  on  their 
liberality  becoming  so  outrageously  large,  the  fathers  of  the 
two  young  men  proceeded  to  Edinburgh  to  learn  and  in- 
vestigate for  themselves,  the  true  state  of  the  case. 

"  Curiously  enough,  Walter's  father  having  for  sometime  had 
grave  suspicions  that  all  was  not  right  in  Pitt  Street  either, 
met  by  accident  at  the  '  Eoyal '  on  his  arrival  in  Auld 
Reekie,  those  two  veritable  gentlemen  just  mentioned.  There 
seems  to  be  a  sort  of  freemasonry  in  such  things,  for  as  the 
three  sat  down  to  breakfast,  they  soon  discovered  their 
affinity  to  each  other,  and  as  the  first-named  pair  had  had 
the  advantage  of  a  day's  start,  they  of  course  knew  everything 
the  other  wished,  or  cared  to  know.  The  revelation  was  sad 
and  sorrowful  enough,  and  after  a  full  review  of  the  whole 
matter,  they  came,  as  they  thought,  to  the  wise  and  philo- 
sophic conclusion,  that  a  sheep-farm  in  the  wilds  of  Australia 
was  the  best  and  only  reformatory  for  such  reckless,  unprin- 
cipled, ungrateful  scapegoats.  This  duly  arranged,  Walter 
came  home  with  his  father  to  Deedun,  from  thence  removing, 
after  a  short  probation,  to  Hayston,  the  Laird  of  which 
estate,  Mr  Douglas,  being  a  private  friend  of  his  father,  and 
whose  recommendation  to  place  his  son  under  the  care  of 
Adam  Johnstone  had  been  eagerly  and  gladly  adopted. 

"Walter  Ogilvy  might  have  been  at  this  time  about  twenty- 


LUCY  JOHNSTONS.  239 

four  or  twenty-five  years  of  age,  and  I  well  remember — not 
Imowing  anything  of  his  previous  history, — of  being  particu- 
larly struck  with  his  appearance  as  he  walked  into  the  church 
on  the  first  Sunday  after  his  arrival,  and  sedately  took 
his  seat  in  the  Laird's  pew.  Though  not  particularly  tall, 
he  was  well  formed ;  his  mein  graceful  and  easy ;  and  the 
expression  of  his  countenance  pensive  if  not  sad.  His 
hair  in  dark  brown  ringlets  fell  carelessly  around  his  brow, 
and  his  rich,  full  lips,  regularly  classic  features  and  fine  piercing 
eyes,  shewed  nothing  of  the  debauchee,  or  man  of  the  world. 
I  may  just  add,  his  dress  was  plain  and  becoming,  exhibiting 
not  the  remotest  feature  of  the  fop  or  votary  of  fashion. 

"  You  may  well  believe  that  in  the  little  village  church  of 
Kinnettles,  the  presence  of  the  interesting  stranger  was  no 
small  event,  and  created  no  little  furor  among  such  a  rustic 
congregation.  When  service  was  over,  1  joined  Lucy  Johnstone 
at  the  church  door ;  Walter  Ogilvy  and  her  father,  walking  on 
together  before,  our  thoughts  naturally  reverting  to,  and  our 
conversation  turning  upon,  the  favourable  impression  the 
manners  and  appearance  of  the  young  stranger  had  made  upon 
each  of  our  minds.  As  we  approached  the  Kerbet,  now 
flooded  by  the  July  rains,  Adam  turned  round  to  allow  us  to 
pass  first  over  the  ricketty  planks  which,  at  that  time,  served 
as  a  bridge  opposite  the  village,  when  Walter,  with  no  airs  of 
assumed  gallantry,  but  quiet  subdued  politeness,  offered  his 
hand  to  Lucy,  and  thus  led  her  gently  along  the  bridge; 
Adam  and  I  following,  when  we  observed  them  safely  over. 
Taking  the  nearest  paths  homeward,  by  turnip  fields,  and 
across  grassy  leas,  many  were  the  stiles  lifted  by  our  gallant 
attendant,  and  many  were  the  admonitions  of  old  Adam  to  the 
young  and  thoughtless  lassies,  said  half  in  earnest,  half  in  jest, 
leaving  each  to  make  the  application  as  best  suited  herself, 
under  the  circumstances.  Coming  at  last  to  the  road  which  led 
more  directly  to  Hayston,  Mr  Ogilvy  made  his  parting  salaam, 
and  with  a  peculiarly  winning  smile  to  Lucy  went  on  his  way; 
while  I  accompanied  her  and  her  father  to  the  door  of  their 


240  STKATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

cottage,  where,  meeting  my  father  and  brothers,  I  pursued 
with  them  my  way  homeward." 

**  What  impressions  did  the  young  stranger  make  on  your- 
self, Kate  1 "  said  Jeanie.  "  Pardon  the  interruption,  but  if  not 
too  rude,  I  feel  curious  and  anxious  to  have  an  answer  to  my 
question  before  I  hear  the  sequel/' 

"  I  was  just  about  giving  you  my  own  impressions,  when 
you  put  your  question.  They  were  simply  these.  Though 
not  at  all  reckoning  myself  peculiarly  acute  in  such  matters, 
I  thought  I  detected  a  lurking,  sinister  expression  in  his  eye, 
whenever  he  addressed  himself  to  Lucy,  which  for  the  time, 
created  a  kind  of  instinctive  aversion  to  the  speaker,  en- 
gendering uneasy  misgivings  and  suspicions,  which,  in  spite  of 
myself,  I  could  not,  without  an  effort,  shake  entirely  off.  On 
reflection,  I  reproachfully  thought,  I  did  him  injustice,  thus  to 
cast  doubts  and  shadows  over  his  character  at  a  first  interview, 
yet  secretly  imagined  I  had  really  hit  upon  some  true  trait  of 
his  inner  heart  that  served  at  least  to  arouse  the  utmost 
watchfulness  and  care." 

**  Had  Lucy  and  he  ever  met  before  1 "  enquired  Jeanie. 

"  No : — Listen :  Up  to  this  time,  Lucy  had  lived  altogether 
retired  from  the  world,  knowing  comparatively  nothing  of  its 
gaieties  or  vanities;  its  hollow  heartlessness  or  seductive 
pleasures;  its  base  deceitfulness,  or  its  heinous  crimes.  Happy 
in  a  home  of  strictly  religious  and  moral  propriety,  and 
breathing  the  atmosphere  of  purity  and  love,  she  scarcely 
knew  what  sin  was,  far  less  felt  able  to  detect  its  subtleties, 
or  comprehend  its  results.  Yet  with  all  this  strict  propriety 
and  purity  of  life,  it  must  be  confessed,  the  only  companions 
with  whom  she  could  come  in  contact,  and  the  only  society  in 
which,  of  necessity,  she  could  mingle,  were  not  of  such  an 
elevated  order  or  cast,  as  to  impress  her  young  heart  with 
feelings  or  aspirations  superior  to  her  own.  There  was  no 
elevation  of  thought,  no  new  desire,  or  holier,  or  deeper  affec- 
tion inspired  by  contact  with  those  in  whose  society  she  had 
lived  from  childhood ;  and  her  short  visits  to  the  neighbour- 


LUCY  JOHNSTONE.  241 

ing  country  town,  were  too  brief  and  transitory  to  light  up 
any  latent  and  hidden  emotion  of  the  Heart.  She  had  received 
just  such  an  ordinary  education  as  the  parish  school  afforded, 
and  her  conversation  did  not  display  any  particular  elevation 
of  thought  or  expression ;  still,  I  felt  convinced,  hers  was  a 
soul  of  no  common  order,  and  would  not,  willingly,  ally  itself 
to  anything  of  meaner,  more  inferior  or  grosser  mould.  This 
may  partly  account  for  the  circumstance,  that  although  now 
passing  out  of  girlhood  into  the  more  comely  and  maturer 
graces  of  womanhood,  her  heart  apparently  had  never  been 
touched  by  the  impress  of  love  or  if  touched  at  all  had  not 
continued  to  vibrate  to  the  passing  stroke.  Of  admirers  she 
had  many ;  of  lovers  none.  The  halo  that  ever  surrounded 
her,  forbade  the  least  approach  to  familiar  converse,  or  the 
flattering  expressions  of  regard.  Beautiful  she  was  to  a  degree, 
and  many  a  rural  gallant  came  joyfully  many  a  long  mile  to 
gaze  upon  her  angelic  countenance  in  the  little  village  church, 
and  then  turn  his  weary  way  homeward,  carrying  however  her 
celestial  image  in  his  heart. 

'^  At  this  peculiarly  trying  and  critical  time  in  the  life  of 
woman  came  this  gay  young  stranger  to  reside  at  Hayston.  It 
were  useless  to  deny  the  naturaUy  fascinating  charm  and 
grace  of  those  who  have  moved  in  the  polished  circles  of  life, 
nor  the  powerful  effects,  for  good  or  evil,  which  these  accom- 
plishments produce,  especially  in  the  minds  of  those  removed 
far  beneath  them  in  the  scale  of  worldly  wealth  or  intel- 
lectual acquirements.  And  if  I  could  have  read  Lucy's 
thoughts  aright  when  she  laid  her  beautiful  head  on  her  pil- 
low on  the  evening  of  the  day  on  which  she  first  met  Walter 
Ogilvy,  they  would  doubtless  have  resolved  themselves  into 
intense  absorbing  admiration  of  the  only  man  whose  presence 
and  voice  and  manner  had  ever  abidingly  touched  her  pure 
and  tender  trusting  heart ;  the  impression  deepening  the  more, 
and  the  spirit  strings  of  the  soul  vibrating  the  sweeter  the 
the  more  her  mind  dwelt  upon  the  object  who  had  been  the 

Q 


242  STRATHMORE  ;  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

primary  cause  of  all  this  new,  tumultuous,  yet  feverish  and 
luxurious  joy. 

"In  like  manner,  if  I  could  have  unveiled  the  thoughts, 
which  no  less  tremulously  passed  swiftly  through  the  mind 
of  Walter  Ogilvy  on  that  same  Sabbath  evening,  they  would 
in  effect  have  somewhat  taken  this  shape  : — "  What  a  thought- 
less scapegrace  have  I  been !  flow  many  fine  opportunities 
of  starting  in  life  have  I  missed,  and  to  be  about  to  suffer 
banishment  to  the  Antipodes  as  a  debauched  and  witless 
ne'er-do-weel !  But  all  are  mistaken  in  regard  to  my  real 
character.  I  have  been  idle,  irresolute,  dissatisfied ;  have 
haunted  recklessly  the  lowest  abodes  of  vice  and  crime, 
and  madly  joined  in  the  ribbald  jest  and  drunken  song  : 
Innocence  hath  lain  prostrate  at  my  feet,  a  withered,  scorched, 
degraded  thing !  while  I,  remorseless,  struck  the  fallen  with 
the  leering  smile  of  triumph,  and  the  cold,  unfeeling,  scorn- 
ful words  of  contempt.  Yet  I  have  activity,  resolution,  noble 
ambition ;  my  heart's  affections  are  warm,  susceptible,  and 
capable  withal  of  pure,  enduring,  elevated  love."  And 
then,  as  if  some  pleasing  conception  had  passed  before  him, 
resuming  enthusiastically : — "  Yes,  there's  no  denying  it ;  she 
is  the  only  woman  who  has  ever  created  within  me  the  pure 
emotion  of  holy  love.  I  felt  my  soul  moved  towards  her 
when  I  first  beheld  her  in  church,  and  had  a  firm  strong  be- 
lief her  heart  vibrated  in  unison  with  mine.  When  I  heard 
her  soft  silvery  voice  behind  me  in  the  churchyard  ;  when  I 
tenderly  held  her  trembling  little  hand  in  mine  while  gently 
leading  her  across  the  rustic  bridge ;  and  drank  in  her  artless 
done  words,  as  we  sauntered  by  the  hedge-rows,  and  over  the 
fields;  and  returned  the  sweet  smile,  the  piercing,  yet  innocent 
glances  he  gave  me  at  parting ;  my  soul  seemed  suddenly  lifted 
out  of  the  pit  of  darkness  and  degradation  into  which  it  had 
fallen,  and  to  live  a  new,  and  purer,  and  holier  existence,  experi- 
encing the  elevating  sentiments  of  purity  and  virtue,  and  inhal- 
ing an  atmosphere  of  holiness  and  love,  to  me,  until  then,  utter 
and  entire  strangers.     The  Bible  tells  me,  my  conscience  tells 


LUCY  JOHNSTONE.  243 

me,  God,  the  Omniscient,  tells  me,  these  are  tokens  for  good. 
Let  me  arise,  therefore,  and,  like  the  prodigal  of  old,  go  to  mj 
earthly  father,  confessing  my  sins,  imploring  his  mercy ;  and 
when  the  fatted  calf  has  been  killed,  and  the  guests  assembled; 
when  mirth  and  song,  and  psaltery,  and  harp  harmoniously 
resound ;  the  shoes  been  put  upon  my  naked  feet,  the  rings  on 
my  fingers,  and  the  fairest  robe  hung  round  my  shoulders, 
and  the  shouts  of  exulting  thousands  are  heard : — '  Let  us  eat 
and  drink,  and  be  merry,  for  this  my  son  was  dead  and  is 
alive  again;  was  lost,  but  now  is  found ;' — ^may  the  breathings 
of  my  soul  be  heard  above  the  long  resounding  song,  that  my 
happiness  be  completed  in  joining  with  me  in  bonds  indis- 
soluble, this  lovely  maiden  through  whose  instrumentality, 
under  God,  I  was  induced  to  leave  the  husks,  and  swine,  and 
miseries  of  a  far  country,  and  present  myself,  repentant  and 
forgiven,  at  my  father's  house.'' 

''But  here  come  my  cousins,  Martha  and  Esther,  from 
Foffarty." 

"  How  provoking  this  interruption,"  said  Jeanie. 

"  Say  not  so,  Jeanie.  They  are  my  kindred ;  good  as  they 
are  kind.  Let  us  rise  and  welcome  them :  they  have  now 
passed  the  mill,  and  will  soon  be  at  the  garden-gate.  We 
shall  have  a  ramble  with  them  in  the  Hunter  Hill  after  dinner, 
and  then  give  them  a  '  Scotch  convoy  *  up  the  brae  on  their 
way  home  in  the  evening.  Come,  let  us  go : — but  here  come 
the  merry  reapers  from  the  harvest  field — and,  hark !  how 
softly  sweet  their  even-song : — 

The  Reapeb's  Song. 

0,  bright  arose  the  glorious  sun. 

Sweet  blushed  the  rosj  mom, 
Blithe  sang  the  shepherd  ou  the  lea, 

The  bird  upon  the  thorn.  , 

The  streamlet,  as  it  joyous  ran, 

Soft  music  breathed  around, 
A  song  the  breeze  brought  on  its  wings. 

Attuned  to  sweetest  sound. 


244  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

While  thus  all  Nature  gladsome  sung, 

To  greet  the  early  mom, 
0,  soft  the  reaper's  song  arose 

Among  the  yellow  oom. 

And  now  at  eVning's  twilight  hour. 

When  solemn  silence  reigns, 
To  heayen  above  we  joyful  raise 

Our  heart*s  adoring  strains. 

And  when  the  sun  in  glory  bright. 

Begems  the  rosy  mom. 
The  reaper's  song  again  shall  rise 

Among  the  yellow  com. 

Then  music  sweet  again  shall  float 

Upon  the  balmy  air, 
While  clouds  of  incense  rise  to  heaven 

At  th'  morning  hour  of  prayer. 

0,  when  the  sun  in  glory  bright, 

Begems  the  rosy  mom, 
The  reaper's  song  again  shall  rise 

Among  the  yellow  com. 


PART  IIL— THE  VICTIM. 

''  Now,  dearest  Kate, "  impatiently  said  Jeanie  on  the  early 
morrow,  '^  let  us  seat  ourselves  again  in  the  arbour,  for  I  long 
to  know  the  fate  of  Lucy  Johnstone.  It  strikes  me,  however, 
you  were  rather  pleased  than  otherwise  at  the  abrupt  interrup- 
tion we  experienced  yesterday. " 

'*  On  a  fine  summer  evening, "  Kate  replied,  ^'you  have  noticed 
the  doves  whirling  and  floating  about  their  dove-cot  appar- 
ently unwilling  to  enter,  and  then  just  as  they  seemed  to  have 
made  up  their  minds  at  last  to  terminate  their  zig-zag  flights, 
they  bound  still  farther  ofiT  in  the  distant  sky.  In  like 
manner  I  loathe  to  leave  the  sunshine  of  purity  and  love,  to 
enter  the  dark  chambers  of  sin  and  shame,  and  every  little 
passing  interruption  is  a  strange  relief  to  me,  shadowing  away 
as  it  does  the  ominous  future.    One  is  ever  unwilling  to 


^^ 


LUCY  J0HN8T0NB.  245 

believe  human  nature  to  be  so  depraved  as  I  am  afraid  the 
sequel  of  my  story  will  too  manifestly  unfold.  But  let  us  sit 
down,  Jeanie,  and  as  briefly  as  I  can  I  shall  narrate  the  sequel : — 

"  Since  Lucy  Johnstone's  first  interview  with  Walter  Ogilvy, 
a  marked  change  had  come  over  her  manner ;  such  a  change 
as  generally  takes  place  whenever  the  affections  of  the  heart 
are  really  touched  by  the  tender  passion  of  love.  With  me, 
it  was  no  difficult  matter  to  solve  the  riddle ;  for  now,  the 
very  name  of  Walter  Ogilvy  could  not  be  pronounced  in  her 
presence,  or  the  least  allusion  made  to  the  affairs  of  Hayston, 
without  the  rosy  blush  mantling  the  cheek  and  the  sparkling 
response  glistening  intelligently  in  the  eye.  Although  we 
had  been  playmates  and  confidantes  from  childhood,  she  had 
never  yet  made  the  most  distant  allusion  to  the  new  hopes  and 
feelings  which  had  evidently  taken  possession  of  her  youthful 
mind;  and  I  had  not  deemed  it  prudent,  to  open  up  the 
subject  myself,  lest  I  might  be  betrayed  into  expressions  of 
my  own  suspicions  regarding  the  true  character  of  him  on 
whom,  it  was  too  evident,  her  heart's  affections  were  fixed. 

"  Walter  Ogilvy  was  regular  in  his  attendance  at  church,  but 
it  soon  became  manifest  how  his  thoughts,  even  there,  were 
occupied.  No  sooner  had  he  seated  himself  in  his  prominent 
pew  in  front  of  the  gaUery,  than  his  restless  eye  sought  out  and 
fixed  itself  on  the  humble  seat  of  Adam  Johnstone,  in  the 
opposite  and  lower  part  of  the  churcL  Lucy  was  also  as 
regular  in  her  attendance,  and  although  no  eye  was  ever  lifted 
up  to  the  gallery  she  seemed  conscious  of  the  pleasing  fact  that 
he  was  there  in  the  same  house  of  prayer  as  herself. 
After  service,  there  were  the  same  friendly  greetings  among  the 
parishioners  as  heretofore ;  but  the  meetings  between  Lucy  and 
Walter  were  more  punctilious  and  constrained  than  formerly  ; 
the  former,  if  not  actually  shrinking  from  the  presence  of  the 
latter,  at  least  betraying  a  nervous  timidity,  as  if  afraid  of  the 
very  object  around  which  her  heart  strings  were  gradually  and 
securely  entwining  themselves.  We  crossed  the  bum,  and 
walked  on  as  before,  across  the  fields  and  along  the  bye-paths, 


246  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

on  our  way  home,  but  our  converse  had  lost  its  sprightliness 
and  vigour,  sinking  down  into  a  cold,  methodical  disquisition 
on  Scotch  divinity,  in  which,  with  the  exception  always  of 
Adam  Johnstone,  the  heart  of  the  speakers  had  manifestly  no 
share. 

"Adam's  quick  and  experienced  eye,  it  may  readily  be 
believed  was  not  slow  to  detect  this  marked  change  in  the 
manner,  and  bearing  of  his  beloved  daughter.  This  timid 
shyness,  and  expressive  silence  werQ  more  to  be  dreaded,  he 
evidently  thought,  than  joyous  excitement,  or  innocent 
familiarity,  and  I  often  detected  an  uneasy  glance  at  Lucy  as 
she  systematically  declined  to  respond  to  the  pertinent  re- 
marks addressed  to  her. 

"Lucy's  changed  demeanour  imposed,  sympathetically,  a 
similar  restraint  on  myself.  This  at  last  became  so  intolera- 
bly burdensome  that  I  reluctantly  resolved  to  go  home,  at 
least  from  church,  alone,  or  with  my  own  friends,  for  the 
future.  On  the  first  occasion,  however,  of  my  attempting  to 
put  my  resolution  into  practice,  Lucy,  with  instinctive  percep- 
tion, divined  at  once  the  truth,  and  clinging  as  it  were  the 
closer  to  me,  the  more  I  moved  away  from  her  presence,  I  was 
soon  compelled  to  abandon  my  intention,  and  to  walk  silent 
and  thoughtful  home  with  her  as  before. 

"  It  might  be  about  twelve  months  from  the  time  of  her  first 
introduction  to  Walter  Ogilvy,  when  I  was  agreeably  surprised 
one  afternoon  by  seeing,  from  the  garden  gate,  the  wellknown 
form  of  Lucy  Johnstone  coming  down  the  hill  on  her  way  to 
Aimiefoul.  Gladly  welcoming  her,  I  led  the  way  to  the 
parlour ;  when,  after  some  general  conversation,  she  proposed 
a  walk  to  the  Hunter  HilL 

"  Down  by  the  bum,  and  up  the  hazel  braes  we  went  till, 
coming  to  a  shady  alcove,  overlooking  the  glen,  we  sat  down, 
our  previous  converse  turning  upon  points  of  trivial  import- 
ance. It  seemed  evident  to  me  there  was  something  pressing 
upon  her  mind  which  it  would  be  a  relief  to  her  to  get  rid 
of;  but  I  did  not,  apparently,  seem  anxious  to  be  made 


LUCY  JOHNSTONE.  247 

acquainted  with  her  secret.  At  last,  as  if  unable  to  conceal 
her  emotion  any  longer,  she  faintly  said : — 

"  *  You  have  not  mentioned  the  name  of  Walter  Ogilvy  to  me 
for  sometime,  Katherine  V 

"  *  No,'  I  replied,  *  because  it  did  not  seem  to  be  agreeable 
to  you,     I  hear  he  leaves  for  Australia  early  next  spring.' 

" '  Yes,'  she  archly  replied,  "  but  he  goes  not  alone." 

Entirely  thrown  oflf  my  guard,  I  laughingly  said,  "So  I 
understand,  for  he  takes  some  agricultural  labourers,  of  your 
father's  selection,  with  him  as  assistants. " 

"  *  Yes, '  she  naively  replied,  *  but  he  takes  a  partner  with 
him,  besides.' 

"  *  A  partner  in  business  V 

"  *  A  partner  for  life ! ' 

"  *  And  you  are  that  partner  1' 

" '  Yes,  and  I  ought  to  ask  your  forgiveness  for  my,  appar- 
ently, strange  conduct  to  you  for  sometime  past,  you  having 
been  my  confidante  in  everything  but  this * 

"  '  The  most  important  event  of  your  life ' — I  hastily  inter- 
rupted. 

"'Forgive  me,  I  am  sure  you  will,  Kate,  when  you 
have  heard  my  explanation.  Up  to  the  period  of  Walter 
Ogilvy  coming  to  reside  amongst  us,  my  heart's  affections 
remained  almost  untouched,  and,  most  certainly,  disengaged. 
Yet,  I  felt  my  heart  was  made  to  love,  and  yearning  long  for 
some  kindred  soul  on  whicli  to  lay  its  first  unsullied  offering, 
I  no  sooner  saw  this  accomplished  stranger  than  I  felt  my 
dearest  hopes  and  most  ardent  longings,  in  a  moment  realised. 
It  could  not  altogether  have  been  his  superior  breeding  and 
high  accomplishments  which  captivated  me,  for  before  I  had 
seen  him  at  all,  a  thrilling,  peculiar,  luxurious  presentiment 
foreshadowed  the  realisation  of  my  wishes.  The  sensations 
were  to  me,  however,  so  strange,  and  so  new,  that  I  seemed  to 
have  changed  my  very  being,  and  to  live  a  new  etherealised 
existence.  So  much  has  this  been  the  case,  Kate,  that  a  con- 
siderable time  elapsed  before  I  could  satisfactorily  collect  my 


248  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

thoughts;  and  even  then,  the  reality  so  far  exceeded  the 
picturings  of  fancy,  I  could  not  find  words  sufficiently  expres- 
sive to  pourtray  my  happiness.     Do  you  forgive  me,  Kate  V 

" '  0  yes,  you  have  anticipated  that  already.  Is  the  matter, 
then,  all  arranged,  and  does  your  father  know  of  the  compact  1 ' 

" '  It  is  all  arranged,  Kate,  but  as  some  recompense  for  my 
former  seeming  neglect,  you  are  the  first  to  whom  I  have 
communicated  the  good  news.' 

A  shade  of  doubt  passed  across  my  mind,  and  after  some 
hesitation  presuming  upon  old  friendship,  I  ventured  to  ask, 
if  she  knew  sufficient  of  his  former  life  to  warrant  her  in 
betrothing  herself  thus  without  either  her  father's  knowledge 
or  permission. 

"  *  He  has  told  me  everything,'  she  rather  pettishly  replied, 
"  '  And  are  you  satisfied,  Lucy,'  I  immediately  rejoined. 

'^ '  Perfectly  satisfied,  Kate.  His  protestations  also  are  so 
strong,  and  his  vows  of  amendment  so  profuse  and  overpower- 
ing, that  I  fully  believe  his  future  career  will  be  as  brilliant 
and  as  happy  as  his  previous  life  has  been  clouded  and 
miserable.' 

"  ^  Then  there  is  the  greater  reason  for  your  informing  your 
parents,  who,  I  feel  persuaded,  would  rejoice  with  you  in  your 
anticipated  happiness.' 

Lucy  was  silent  It  was  quite  evident  she  felt  disappointed 
by  my  manner  of  cross  questioning,  to  her  so  unexpected. 
Piqued  therefore  at  the  cool,  cautious  manner  in  which  I  had 
received  her  revelations,  she  rose  abruptly,  and  as  we  walked 
together  to  the  little  bye-path  in  the  wood  which  led  to  her 
father's  cottage,  she  at  last  said — 

"  *  You  do  not  seem  to  partake  of  my  happiness,  ELate  ? ' 
'' '  You  are  altogether  mistaken,  Lucy.  Next  to,  nay  even 
before  my  own,  I  desire  most  heartily  and  sincerely  your 
happiness  both  in  this  life  and  the  next.  I  cannot,  however, 
but  feel  anxious  that,  you  should  be  fully  satisfied  in  your 
own  mind  as  to  the  stability  of  the  foundations  on  which 
your  future  happiness  is  to  be  reared.' 


LUCY  JOHNSTONE.  249 


it 


'  But  why  all  these  doubts  and  misgivings,  Kate )' 
It  was  my  turn  to  be  silent  now,  for  I  really  could  give  no 
tangiblie  explanation  of  the  doubts  and  fears  which  ofttimes, 
for  her  sake,  perplexed  me.  And  so  we  walked  till  we 
arrived  at  the  outskirts  of  the  wood,  where,  meeting  my  father 
returning  from  the  village, we  bade  each  other  an  affectionate 
yet  constrained  and  lingering  adieu. 

"  On  the  following  Saturday  evening  I  was  proceeding  to  the 
surgeon's  in  the  village  for  some  medicines  for  one  of  the 
female  servants,  when,  at  a  sudden  turning  of  the  road,  be- 
neath the  brow  of  the  hill,  I  met  Lucy  Johnstone  and  Walter 
Ogilvy.  Receiving  previously  the  intelligence  of  their  be- 
trothal from  Lucy  herself,  I  did  not  feel  so  much  surprised  as 
I  otherwise  would  have  done,  at  their  presence  together ;  so, 
after  a  short  interview,  I  passed  on,  not  wishing  to  interrupt 
their  apparently  interesting  conversation.  Lucy  was  looking 
so  radiantly  beautiful  in  her  neat  white  bonnet  and  tartan 
scarf,  her  rich  auburn  hair  flowing  in  sunny  tresses  over 
her  shoulders,  and  her  whole  air  and  bearing  so  confidingly 
trustful  as  she  hung  affectionately  on  the  arm  of  her  companion, 
that  when  I  involuntarily  turned  round  when  I  had  reached 
the  top  of  the  hill  to  take  a  long  last  look  of  them,  I  most 
devoutly  wished  my  fears,  and  doubts,  and  misgivings  might  be 
illusory  and  groundless.  Just  as  I  turned  round  they  entered 
the  outskirts  of  the  wood,  and  in  a  few  minutes  disappeared. 

"  Next  day,  my  mind  troubled  about  many  things,  I  entered 
the  village  church,  and  at  the  commencement  of,  and  during 
the  service,  my  eye  wandered  in  vain  to  Adam  Johnstone's 
pew  in  search  of  Lucy.  She  was  not  there !  Walter  Ogilvy 
was  in  his  accustomed  place,  but  although  I  watched  him 
narrowly  he  never  once  looked  in  the  direction  of  Adam's  pew, 
contenting  himself  apparently  with  his  own  private  acts  of 
devotion.  This  being  the  only  instance  I  could  recollect  of  Lucy 
having  been  absent  from  church,  I  hastily  overtook  old  Adam 
on  his  way  home,  to  learn  the  cause  of  her  absence.  A  slight 
headache,  Adam  said,  had  unexpectedly  confined  her  to  the 


250  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

house,  and  Walter  now  joining  us,  the  conversation  took 
another  direction. 

"I  imagined  Walter's  manner  to  be  quieter  and  more  reserved 
than  usual,  but  this,  to  me  at  least,  was  partly  accounted  for 
by  his  telling  me  this  was  his  last  appearance  in  the  church 
of  Kinnettles,  his  father  having  taken  his  passage  by  the  first 
Australian  packet  from  Liverpool  With  a  courteous  adieu  he 
took  leave  of  us  at  the  separation  of  our  paths,  and  I  pro- 
ceeded for  some,little  time  with  Adam  alone,  till  overtaken  by  my 
father  and  mother,  we  all  went  on  our  homeward  way  together. 
Adam  did  not  ask  me  to  enter  the  cottage  to  enquire  after 
Lucy,  and  not  caring  to  intrude,  especially  as  her  mother 
cheerfully  told  us  as  we  passed  the  door  that  she  was  better,  I 
journeyed  onward  to  Aimiefoul  with  my  parents. 

"During  the  ensuing  week  it  was  quite  current  in  the 
parish,  that  Walter  was  to  leave  Hayston,  on  the  Saturday, 
but  not  a  whisper  of  any  wedding  or  of  Lucy  becoming 
his  wife.  It  soon  became  apparent  that  Adam  knew  nothing 
of  any  such  engagement,  else  he  would  have  been  the  first  to 
divulge  it  to  me.  And  so  the  expected  Saturday  came,  and 
Walter  bade  adieu  to  Hayston,  taking  an  affectionate  farewell 
of  old  Adam,  who  had^been,  in  every  respect  as  a  friend  and 
counsellor  to  the  young  man,  in  whose  welfare  from  the  first, 
he  had  taken  much  interest. 

"  Sunday  came,  and  in  her  accustomed  seat  sat  Lucy  John- 
stone, but  how  changed !  Her  once  blooming  cheek  had 
become  even  paler  than  the  lily,  and  her  countenance  had 
assumed  a  restless  sadness,  which  I  accounted  for,  scarcely 
satisfactorily  however,  as  her  deep,  unfeigned  sorrow  at  the 
premature  departure  of  her  lover.  But  her  marriage  1  1 
could  not  trust  myself  to  think  of  that,  or  if  I  did,  it  was  to 
judge  charitably — some  unforeseen  event  may  have  occurred 
to  prevent  its  celebration  at  the  present  time — ^he  will  return 
after  due  preparation  for  his  betrothed  bride ;  the  manner 
and  conduct  of  both  attesting  to  the  truth  of  their  mutual 
affection. 


LUCY  JOHNSTONE.  251 

"  For  some  months  did  Lucy  and  I  meet  each  other  at  the 
church  door  as  usual  at  the  conclusion  of  the  service,  but  on 
each  occasion  ther^  was  an  evident  shrinking  from  coming 
into  near  and  familiar  contact.  Her  cheek  became  still  more 
deadly  pale ;  her  eye  more  restless  and  uneasy,  her  voice 
more  hollow  and  sepulchral,  and  her  whole  demeanour  more 
timid  and  retiring.  Hers  was  evidently  some  deep,  deep, 
inward,  secret  grief,  with  which  the  outer  world  dared  not 
intermeddle. 

*^  Her  attendance  at  church  now  became  less  regular,  until 
about  six  months  after  Walter's  departure,  she  ceased  to 
attend  the  village  sanctuary  altogether.  Censuring  my  own 
neglect  in  not  sooner  having  offered  her  my  sincere  sympathy 
in  her  sorrow,  I  called  one  day  at  the  cottage,  when  her 
mother  informed  me  she  particularly  wished  to  be  kept  qniet 
from  all  intrusion ;  but  with  such  a  sad  mysterious  air  was 
the  prohibition  uttered,  that  I  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for 
my  being  denied  admittance  to  her  sick  chamber.  Janet 
too,  seemed  much  changed,  in  as  much  as  her  wonted 
buoyancy  of  spirits  seemed  entirely  to  have  forsaken  her,  and 
a  peculiar  kind  of  melancholy  having  settled  down  upon  her 
once  joyously  expressive  features. 

"It  was  now  winter,  and  the  snow  lay  deep  upon  the 
ground.  Adam  Johnstone  entered  his  cottage  on  a  cold, 
gusty,  snowy  night  in  the  latter  end  of  December.  Lucy, 
pale  and  dejected,  sat  by  the  blazing  ingle,  without,  however, 
once  turning  her  eyes  toward  her  father,  while  her  mother 
paced  to  and  fro  on  the  kitchen  floor  in  a  state  of  frenzied 
distraction.  Adam  hung  .his  bonnet  on  the  rafters,  shook 
the  frosted  snow  from  his  ample  plaid,  and  was  about  to 
seat  himself  in  his  old  arm-chair  by  the  fire,  when  Janet  with 
an  ominous  meaning  in  her  tremulous  voice,  summoned  him 
to  follow  her  to  the  spence  or  inner  roonL  What  revelation 
was  made  there  we  cannot  exactly  tell,  but  terrible,  angry, 
and  threatening  words  reached  the  ears  of  the  terror-stricken 
Lucy  : — '  Disgraced,  ruined  in  soul  and  body— curse  her ! — 


252  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Yes,  I  will,  and  do  curse  her ;  darken  my  door  she  shall  no 
more.  Yes  I  accursed  be  my  own  flesh  that  thus  brings  my 
grey  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  grave,'  were  some  of  the  inco- 
herent expressions  which  resounded  through  the  house, 
making  the  very  rafters  tremble  with  the  sound. 

"  Adam  foUowed  by  Janet  now  furiously  entered  the  kitchen 
to  vent  his  terrible  wrath  on  the  stricken  maiden,  but  Lucy 
was  not  there  !  Every  room,  nook,  and  cranny  of  the  cottage 
was  minutely  searched,  but  to  no  eflfect.  She  had  fled — ^no 
one  knew  whither ! 

^^  Adam's  imprecations  now  gave  place  to  lamentation  and 
woe,  and  on  a  far  more  fearful  night  than  that  on  which 
Adam  and  I  had  many  years  before  gone  forth  in  search  of 
Lucy,  did  the  now  aroused  villagers  scour  the  country  round 
without  finding  any  trace  of  the  lost  maiden.  The  snow  fell 
thickly  during  the  greater  part  of  the  night;  the  winds 
howled  in  fitful  gusts  along  the  glen;  and  many  a  noble 
heart  felt  desolate  and  broken  at  the  thought  of  Lucy  perish- 
ing among  the  snow.  Towards  daybreak  the  snow  ceased  to 
fall,  and  a  severe  sharp  frost  set  fiercely  in,  chilling  and 
curdling  the  blood  of  even  the  youngest  and  strongest  of  the 
band.  StiU  they  searched  on,  and  at  last  gathering  in  a 
melancholy  group  at  the  outskirts  of  yon  dark  pine  wood, 
to  resolve  as  to  their  future  proceedings,  low  moanings  were 
distinctly  heard  to  issue  fix>m  the  clump  of  furze  hard  by. 
In  a  few  minutes  they  were  on  the  spot,  and  there  sat  Adam 
Johnstone  with  his  still  loved  daughter  and  her  new-bom 
babe  in  his  arms — ^but  the  snow  of  death  was  on  the  brow  of 
Lucy  and  her  child — their  spirits  had  fled  to  (rod  who  gave 
them. 

''Adam  Johnstone  never  was  himself  again.  A  curse 
seemed  to  have  settled  on  his  household.  In  one  short 
twelvemonth  Adam  and  Janet  had  followed  each  other  to  the 
grave,  and  the  voice  of  gladness  and  mirth  were  heard  no 
more  in  that  once  happy  home.  The  cottage  is  now 
tenanted  by  strangers,  and  a  new  generation  is  springing  up 


LUCY  JOHNSTONE.  253 

in  the  parish  of  Einnettles.  Still,  the  tale  of  Lucy  Johnstone 
is  told  at  many  a  fireside  in  the  long  winter  evenings,  and 
compassion  mingles  with  grief  as  the  cottagers  dwell  upon 
the  sorrowful  details  of  her  tragical  end." 


PART  IV.— THE  RETRIBUTION. 

On  the  evening  immediately  following  that  on  which  Kate 
had  related  to  Jeanie  the  tragical  fate  of  Lucy  Johnstone, 
the  two  friends  were  walking  together  as  usual  by  the  side  of 
the  bum  enjoying  the  quiet  loveliness  of  the  sylvan  landscape. 
It  was  one  of  those  beautiful  autumnal  nights,  which,  while 
it  yielded  the  most  exquisite  enjoyment,  threw  a  shadow  of 
melancholy  sadness  over  the  spirit,  rather  pleasing,  however, 
than  otherwise,  to  studious  and  contemplative  minds.  The 
two  friends  walked  on  in  silence,  neither,  apparently,  wishing 
to  disturb  or  interrupt  the  reveries  of  the  other.  This  con- 
tinued and  studied  silence  at  last  became  oppressively  painful, 
and,  accurately  divining  the  thoughts  which  now  dwelt 
uppermost  in  her  mind,  Jeanie  Morison  thus  abruptly 
addressed  her  companion  :— 

"  Surely  vice  as  well  as  virtue  meets  sometimes  with  its 
due  reward,  even  in  this  world,  Kate  1 " 

"  Yes,  dear  Jeanie,  and  in  the  case  of  Walter  Ogilvy,  the 
retribution  was  full  and  complete." 

"Relate  the  sequel,  then,  Kate,  not  for  the  purpose  of 
gloating  over  the  sufferings  even  of  the  most  guilty,  but  as  a 
fitting  and  instructive  conclusion  to  a  tale,  not  of  romance 
but  of  real  life." 

''  Being  of  your  opinion,  Jeanie,  that  the  narrative  would 
be  incomplete  without  some  allusion,  at  least,  to  Walter 
Ogilvy's  future  career,  I  shall  briefly  recount  to  you,  therefore, 
the  principal  incidents  of  the  remaining  years  of  his  eventful 
life.    We  have  walked,  however,  much  farther  tiian  I  had 


254  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

intended.  Let  us  now  retrace  our  steps  homeward,  and  I 
shall  talk  as  we  walk  along.  There  will  just  be  sufficient 
time  to  narrate  the  sequel  before  we  again  reach  Aimie- 
fouL' 

"Three  years  had  passed  away  since  Walter  Ogilv/s 
departure  for  Australia.  The  minister  of  Kinnettles  after 
having  completed  his  weekly  sermon  for  the  following 
day,  was  sitting  in  the  cozy  parlour  of  the  manse, 
in  the  greatest  good  humour  with  himself,  one  Saturday 
evening  in  the  autumn  of  18 — ,  when  a  stranger  was  abruptly 
announced.  Eising  to  receive  his  visitor  the  minister  was 
presented  with  a  letter  of  introduction.  Desiring  the  stranger 
to  be  seated,  the  minister  resumed  his  place  by  the  fire  and 
began  to  peruse  the  letter.  While  doing  so,  we  shall  glance 
for  a  moment  at  the  stranger's  general  appearance.  Moder- 
ately tall,  well-formed,  his  face  much  bronzed  by  apparent 
exposure  to  the  sun,  he  might  have  passed  for  a  stalwart, 
sturdy  mountaineer,  had  not  the  restless,  hollow  eye  betrayed 
the  inward  workings  of  a  mind  ill  at  ease  with  itself.  On 
closer  inspection,  we  perceive  in  the  wasted  cheek  and  glassy 
eye  unmistakable  evidences  of  broken  health,  whilst  a  pensive 
melancholy  sadness  seems  to  have  settled  on  his  souL  His 
attire  bespeaks  the  studied  negligh  of  a  man  of  the  world ;  a 
profusion  of  hair  envelopes  his  brow,  and  his  long  chestnut 
curls,  plentifully  tinged  with  grey,  hang  in  admired  disorder 
over  his  shoulders. 

" '  Captain  Yemon,  I  presume,'  said  the  minister. 

The  stranger  bowed. 

" '  It  is  many  years  since  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the 
writer  of  this  letter.  He  was  a  very  intimate  college  friend 
of  mine,  and  for  the  sake  of  old  days,  nothing  could  possibly 
give  me  greater  pleasure  than  to  be  of  service  to  any  friend  of 
his.  I  see,'  continued  the  minister,  glancing  at  the  letter, 
"  that  you  intend  taking  up  your  residence  for  a  short  time  in 
the  neighbourhood  in  consequence  of  failing  health.  Well, 
although  there  are  many  places  much  more  attractive  than 


LUCY  JOHNSTONE.  256 

our  old  fashioned  little  village  and  surrounding  homesteads, 
yet  we  have  classic  land  hard  by,  immortalized  by  the 
historian  and  the  poet,  and  I  shall  do  my  best  to  make  you, 
in  time,  acquainted  with  its  unrivalled  beauties.  Have  you 
procured  comfortable  and  suitable  quarters  for  your  sojourn 
amongst  us — if  not,  I  can  possibly  put  you  in  the  way  of 
obtaining  them  1 ' 

"  *  You  are  very  kind,  indeed,"  replied  the  Captain,  *  but  I 
have  obtained  accommodation  in  the  little  hamlet  of  Thornton, 
where,  I  believe,  I  shall  find  myself  at  home  during  my  short 
stay  amongst  you.' 

"  *|You  are  welcome  to  the  use  of  my  pew  during  your  stay, 
should  you  feel  inclined  to  attend  the  Sabbath  services  of  our 
little  sanctuary — ^but  here  comes  the  tea — we  shall  be  so 
happy  by  your  joining  our  family  circle  and  becoming  one 
of  us  for  the  evening.' 

"  Captain  Vernon,  however,  pleaded  the  fatigue  of  a  long 
journey  as  an  excuse  for  not  complying  with  the  kind  invita- 
tion of  the  worthy  minister,  and  almost  immediately  took  his 
leave,  promising  to  wait  again  upon  him  on  the  following 
Monday. 

"  The  minister's  pew  is,  as  you  know,  opposite  to  that  of 
Aimiefoul,  so  that,  on  the  succeeding  Sabbath,  I  could « not 
fail  to  observe  the  presence  of  the  stranger,  who  gave, 
however,  but  little  opportunity  for  any  one  to  scrutinize 
his  features,  covering,  as  he  did,  his  face  with  his  hand 
during  almost  the  whole  service.  The  subject  of  discourse 
was  taken  from  these  remarkable  words: — 'For  God  shall 
bring  every  work  into  judgment,  with  every  secret  thing 
whether  it  be  good,  or  whether  it  be  evil'  The  sermon 
struck  me  at  the  time  as  peculiarly  pointed  and  impressive, 
and  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  the  mournful  fate  of  Lucy 
Johnstone,  nor  of  wondering  whether  retributive  justice 
would,  even  in  this  world,  overtake  her  destroyer. 

"  Beautiful  and  green  was  the  velvet  turf  on  Lucy's  grave, 
begemmed,  as  it  was,  with  the  modest  daisy,  an  emblem  once 


256  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

of  her  own  purity  and  simple  loveliness.  It  did  not  obtrude 
itself  on  the  attention  of  the  passers-by,  but  nestling  in  a  quiet 
nook  of  the  churchyard,  remote  from  vulgar  eyes,  its  isolated 
loneliness  bespoke  the  greater  sympathy  for  the  unhappy  fate 
of  its  silent  occupant  As  usual,  after  church  service,  I  was 
musingly  loitering  among  the  graves  on  my  way  to  Lucy's 
resting  place,  when,  to  my  great  surprise,  I  abruptly  encoun- 
tered the  foreign-looking  stranger  whom  I  had  that  morning 
seen  in  church.  He  seemed  to  be  intently  endeavouring  to 
discover  some  particular  grave  with  all  the  keen  earnestness 
of  a  man  searching  for  some  lost  or  hidden  treasure.  He 
started  as  I  approached,  fixing  his  cold  glassy  eye  enquiringly 
upon  me  for  an  instant.  I  returned  his  enquiring  look  with 
a  strange,  unwelcome  feeling  of  recognition.  Whether  he 
read  aright  the  expression  of  that  momentary  glance,  I  know 
not,  but  he  hurriedly  made  his  way  across  the  burial-ground, 
disappearing  from  my  sight  before  I  had  time  to  recover 
myself  from  the  strange  excitement  the  encounter  had 
occasioned. 

''It  was  sometime  before  my  reeling  and  tumultuous 
thoughts  could  gather  any  tangible  form ;  but  when  they  had 
somewhat  settled  and  moulded  themselves  into  shape,  the 
conviction  grew  strong  and  defined  that  I  had  not  only  seen 
a  once  familiar  form,  but  had  penetrated  his  own  conviction, 
that  he  felt  himself  to  be  known  and  discovered.  His  name ; 
his  introduction  to  the  minister ;  and  the  attention  bestowed 
on  him  as  a  stranger;  which  came  subsequently  to  my 
knowledge,  did  not  in  the  least  shake  my  conviction,  and  I 
felt,  that  sooner  or  later,  the  apparent  mysteiy  would  be 
satisfactorily  solved.  I  kept  my  suspicions,  however,  entirely 
to  myself,  and  resolutely  resolved  to  bide  my  time. 

'*  On  the  next  day,  the  minister,  without  waiting  for  the 
promised  visit  of  the  captain,  called  at  the  hamlet  of  Thornton 
where  he  was  residing,  and,  after  some  unimportant  conversa- 
tion, proposed  a  walk  to  the  grand  old  Castle  of  Olamis, 
which,  although  situate  in  a  different  parish,  is  only  a  short 


LUCY  JOHNSTONE.  267 

distance  from  Kinnettles.  The  stranger  assented,  and,  the 
minister  leading  the  way,  the  two  proceeded  by  the  shortest 
road  through  the  wood  of  Thornton  to  the  ancient  stronghold 
of  a  long  illustrious  line  of  earls,  in  whose  veins  ran  the  purple 
blood  of  kings.  They  had  now  entered  the  wood,  the  minister 
discoursing  eloquently  of  ancient  days  with  their  rude  accom- 
paniments of  Chase  and  Toumay,  bloody  catastrophes,  and 
war-like  deeds.  In  the  gloomiest  part  of  this  classic  wood, 
tradition  saith  King  Malcolm  was  slain,  and,  like  a  spectre  of 
the  past,  at  a  weird-like  turning  of  the  path,  abruptly  uprose 
before  them,  the  gaunt  Memorial  Stone,  erected  on  the  spot, 
where,  as  fanciful  imagination  will  have  it,  the  bloody  deed 
was  consummated. 

"'There,'  said  the  minister,  pointing  to  the  rude  yet  im- 
pcessiye  memorial,  '  stands  to  this  day,  the  stone  erected  to 
perpetuate  the  remembrance  of  the  tragically  foul  and 
treacherous  deed.  Depend  upon  it,  my  young  friend,  every 
deed  of  darkness,  however  long  concealed,  will  ultimately  be 
brought  to  light.' 

'^  A  slight  tremor  passed  through  the  frame  of  his  compan- 
ion, his  cheek  paled,  his  lips  quivered,  and  his  limbs  smote 
the  one  against  the  other.  The  minister  observed  the  sudden 
change  and  jocularly  remarked,  that  these  old  legends  had 
probably  turned  his  head,  as  they  did  the  heads  of  younger 
children  in  the  nursery. 

"  'I  confess,'  said  the  Captain, '  I  do  not  feel  quite  well — 
we  will  not,  if  you  please,  proceed  any  further  to-day — some 
other  time  I  shall  be  happy  to  accompany  you  in  a  pilgrimage 
to  the  old  Castle,  but  I  feel  unequal  to  the  task  to-day.' 

"So,  retracing  their  steps  homeward,  they  emerged  from  the 
wood  in  silence,  a  strange  unaccountable  feeling  of  embarrass- 
ment preventing  either  from  resuming  the  conversation.  The 
sight  of  the  pretty  vale  of  Kinnettles  bathed  in  the  golden 
sunshine,  seemed,  however,  to  revive  the  stranger  as  if  by 
enchantment. 

'' '  'Tis  a  beautiful  valley,'  said  he,  '  with  its  waving  woods 

R 


258      STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

and  sparkling  streams.    I  almost  envy  your  happy  life^  spent 
among  such  pleasant  scenes.' 

"  *  Yes/  replied  the  minister,  sorrowfully,  *  if  the  moral 
picture  were  as  untainted  and  beautiful,  it  would,  indeed,  be 
a  pleasant  spot  in  which  to  spend  one's  days;  but  the  fact,  that 
beneath  that  smiling  exterior,  impure  desires  and  heartless 
deeds  lie  concealed  from  the  common  eye,  causes  a  deep  and 
lasting  shadow  to  oyercast  the  beautiful  landscape.' 

''  A  shade  of  gloom  again  came  over  the  stranger's  spirit,  and 
they  walked  on  in  silence.  They  had  passed  the  Plans  and 
were  now  approaching  the  village.  Grossing  the  river  the 
minister  kindly  assisted  the  stranger  to  keep  his  balance  on 
the  old  rickety  planks,  and  while  he  did  so,  felt  the  arm  he 
held  tremble  like  an  aspen  in  his  gentle  grasp.  Attributing 
this  to  nervous  feeling  caused  by  his  weak  state  of  health, 
the  good  man  spoke  still  more  kindly  to  him,  inviting  him  to 
spend  the  evening  at  the  manse,  which  they  had  now  almost 
reached. 

" '  I  would  prefer  a  quiet  walk  in  the  churchyard,'  replied 
his  companion;  and  while  proceeding  thither  the  door  of  the 
little  parish  school  quickly  opened,  and  like  bees  issuing  from 
their  byke,  out  rushed  the  noisy  happy  throng,  shouting,  and 
singing,  and  trampling  upon  each  other's  heels  in  their  eager- 
ness to  escape  into  the  free,  breezy,  exhilarating  air. 

*' '  God  bless  their  little  happy  hearts,'  said  the  minister, 

''The  stranger  made  no  reply,  and  they  both  passed  into  the 
churchyard  in  silence. 

"'  Whose  solitary  resting-place  is  that!' — suddenly  asked 
Gaptain  Vernon,  pointing  to  Lucy  Johnstone's  unnamed  grave. 

"'That  is  the  grave,  alas  !  of  one,'  replied  the  minister, — 
'  once  the  purest  and  loveliest  amongst  the  creatures  of  God.' 

" '  Her  name  1 ' — interrupted  the  stranger. 

"  *  Lucy  Johnstone.' 

" '  The  cause  of  her  death  ? ' 

" '  A  broken  heart.' 

" '  She  is  buried  there  9 ' 


LUCY  JOHNSTONE.  259 

^"  She  and  her  babe,  together/ 

"  '  Both  dead  I ' 

'''  Father  and  mother,  besides.' 

"'Her  homer 

'* '  Desolate  and  waste.' 

"  *  The  night  air  comes  chilly  over  me — ^let  us  go.' 

'^  And  with  the  same  oppressive  silence  as  they  entered, 
they  returned  from  the  churchyard. 

"  Politely  declining  the  good  man's  reiterated  invitation  to 
the  manse,  the  stranger  bade  adieu  at  the  gate,  and  proceeded 
on  his  way  to  Thornton. 

"  Several  days  passed  away  without  the  minister  either  see- 
ing or  hearing  any  more  of  the  stranger,  at  which  he  was  both 
puzzled  and  surprised.  Kuminating  one  evening  as  to  what 
might  be  the  cause  of  his  non-appearance,  his  musings  were 
suddenly  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  messenger  from 
Thornton,  with  an  urgent  request  from  Captain  Vernon  that 
he  would  hasten  without  delay  to  see  him. 

"Promptly  obeying  the  summons,  the  minister  was  instant- 
ly on  his  way  to  the  neighbouring  hamlet.  On  arriving  at  the 
cottage  where  the  Captain  resided,  he  was  immediately  shown 
into  his  bedroom.  On  the  bed,  his  head  propped  up  by 
pillows,  lay  the  stranger,  who  held  out  his  hand  in  token  of 
welcome,  as  the  minister  softly  approached.  The  change  in 
his  general  appearance  was  so  great  that  the  latter  could 
not,  without  an  effort,  recognize  in  the  shrivelled  attenuated 
frame,  and  pale  and  ghastly  features  of  the  sick  man,  the 
handsome  and  athletic-looking  stranger  so  lately  introduced  to 
him.  Dashing  back  his  dishevelled  hair,  whidi  had  fallen  in 
thick  damp  clusters  over  his  brow,  the  Captain  faintly  said^ 
"  *  I  have  been  ill,  sir.' 

"*  I  am  extremely  sorry,  indeed,  to  see  you  in  such  a  weak 
and  exhausted  condition.  Has  any  medical  man  been  called 
in  to  see  you  f '  replied  the  minister. 

*^  *  I^octors,  I  am  afraid,  can  do  me  no  good.  The  root  of  the 
disease  is  beyond  their  ken,  and  the  cure  above  their  skill' 


260  STRATHMORB :  ITS  SCENES  AKD  LEGENDS 

'''My  dear  friend/  said  the  minister,  still  affectionately 
pressing  his  hand,  'you  must  not  give  way  to  despair.  These 
gloomy  forebodings  only  aggravate  your  disease.  Our  family 
physician  shall  be  immediately  sent  for,  and ' — 

" '  Take  a  chair  by  my  side,  and  listen,'  interrupted  the 
sick  man.  'If  I  fail  to  convince  you  that  my  case  is 
altogether  hopeless,  you  may  then  send  for  medical  assistance. 
My  name  is — ^Walter  Ogilvy.' 

"' Walter  Ogilvy?* 

"  '  Yes,  forgive  your  old  friend  Graeme,  as  well  as  myself, 
for  the  fraud  we  have  jointly  perpetrated.  It  was  done  in 
this  wise.  On  my  arrival  from  Australia^  I  sought  out  the 
old  companion  of  my  youth,  and  to  him  disclosed  the  true 
cause  and  nature  of  my  malady.  Perceiving  I  was  resolutely 
bent  on  revisiting  Einnettles  he  advised  the  change  of  name 
out  of  deference  to  my  feelings,  until  it  should  be  seen  what 
effect  the  visit  had  on  my  spirits.  To  save  any  frirther  cross- 
questioning,  I  may  as  well  at  once  proceed  with  the  narrative 
of  which  I  wish  to  make  you  the  recipient' 

"'Walter  Ogilvyl*  again,  half  incredulously  exclaimed 
the  minister. 

" '  Do  not  shrink  from  me,  good  sir,  I  am  now  more  an 
object  of  pity  than  contempt ;  but  as  I  feel  my  time  is  shorty 
forgive  me  for  detaining  you  a  very  few  minutes  while  I  have 
strength  left  for  the  recital.  To  be  brief,  then,  nothing  went 
well  with  me  in  Australia.  My  mind,  filled  with  remorse^ 
could  not  settle  itself  to  any  steady  pursuit,  and  the  natural 
consequences  of  the  want  of  any  fixed  purpose,  coupled  with 
neglected  business,  soon  followed  with  retributive  swiftness  ; 
my  health  began  to  give  way ;  and  broken  in  fortune  and 
in  health,  I  returned  to  Scotland. 

" '  A  strange  fascination  impelled  me  to  revisit  the  scenes 
once  so  purified  and  blessed  by  the  presence  of  Lucy  Johnstone. 
A  sense  of  shame,  however,  prevented  the  accomplishment  of 
my  purpose,  until  Mr  Graeme  suggested  the  project  of  a  visit 
under  an  assumed  name.    Feeling  safe,  then,  from  detection^ 


LUCY  JOHNSTONK  261 

my  whole  appearance  being  so  much  changed,  I  came  to  Kin- 
nettles,   not  ceriiEdnlj  with  the  purpose  of  practising  any 
criminal  deception,  but  that  I  might,  unmolested,  again  sur- 
vey and  penitentially  visit  those  scenes  in  which  I  felt  my- 
self now  so  deeply  interested.     But  I  had  calculated  beyond 
my  strength.      Every  field,   and   hedgerow,  and  meadow, 
reminded  me  of  Lucy  Johnstone.     The  winds,  the  birds,  the 
streams  ever  whispered    her  endearing  name.      Her  once 
happy  home  of  innocence  and  love,  the  humble  cottage  on  the 
hill-side — but  my  imagination  supplied  the  picture — I  could 
not  venture  there.    Neither  could  I  find  courage  to  breathe  her 
name,  or  to  ask  any  questions  concerning  her  or  her  family ; 
the  more  especially,  since  I  felt  I  had  actually  been  discovered 
on  the  very  day  after  my  arrival,  while  furtively  searching  in 
the   burial-ground  for  what  I  instinctively  felt  was  there, 
although  entirely  ignorant  of  the  fact  until  the  harrowing 
revelation  fell  from  your  own  lips.    Then,  again,  the  effects  of 
an  evil  conscience  were  evinced  in  connection  with  almost 
every  passing  occurrence.    The  subject  of  your  discourse  on 
the  Sunday — ^the  remark  you  incidentally  made  at  the  Memo- 
rial Stone  in  the  wood  of  Thornton — ^the  picture  you  drew  of 
the  landscape  when  we  again  came  in  sight  of  the  valley  of 
Kinnettles — ^your  allusion  to  the  happy  hearts  of  the  children 
as  they  escaped  from  the  bondage  of  the  little  village  school. 
But  your  solemn  yet  cutting  replies  to  my  home  questioning 
in  the  church-yard,  gave  the  death-blow  to  all  my  hopes  of  for- 
giveness from  the  lips  of  her  whom  I  had  so  deeply  wronged. 
The  disclosure  burst  like  a  thunderbolt  on  my  accursed  soul, 
crushing  it  at  once  beyond  hope  of  revival.    My  dear  sir, 
Qod  and  myself  only  know  what  I  have  suffered  since  that 
to  me  fatal  revelation.     Yet  you  see  I  am  comparatively 
calm.    I  speak  not  in  cant,  or  rant,  or  rhapsody.     Still  waters 
run  deep.    The  heart  is  smote  the  sorest  when  it  sheds  no 
tears.     With  me  the  bitterness  of  death  is  past.     I  know  you 
will  pray  for  me.     I  have  almost  ceased  to  pray  for  myself. 
God  of  justice  have  mercy  on  me !    I  shall  soon  go  hence  and 


262  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

be  no  more  as  to  this  world.     When  I  die,  bury  me  near  HER. 
This  is  my  laat  request,  sir : — fare-you-well ! ' 

''  He  fell  back  utterly  prostrated  by  the  exertion  and  excite- 
ment of  the  recital;  and  the  minister,  commending  him  to  the 
special  care  of  the  sick  nurse,  took  his  departure  with  a  heavy 
heart. 

"  Three  dajrs  after,  the  mortal  remains  of  Walter  Ogilvy 
were  consigned  to  the  tomb. 

''  His  dying  request  was  not  forgotten,  and  he  sleeps  in  the 
quiet  churchyard  of  Kinnettles,  side  by  side  with  Lucy 
Johnstone." 

Jeanie  Morrison  after  spending  a  pleasant  week  at  Aimie- 
foul,  bade  an  affectionate  adieu  to  her  dear  and  early  Mend, 
returning  to  her  city  home  to  increase  by  her  radiant  presence 
ts  purity,  its  happiness,  and  love. 

Elate,  in  course  of  time  forgot  her  early  sorrows,  having 
become  the  happy  wife  of  a  neighbouring  farmer  in  the 
Howe,  whose  descendants  still  occupy  the  *'  bonnie  farm." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

LEGEND  OF  THE  NINE  MAIDENS. 

"  See  yonder  hallowed  fane !  the  pious  work 
Of  names  once  famed,  now  dubious  or  forgot. 
And  buried,  'midst 'the  wreck  of  things  that  were." 

Blair. 

The  Glen  of  Ogilvy,  at  one  time  the  property  of  Graham 
of  Claverhouse,  the  scene  of  the  legend  of  the  Nine  Maidens, 
is  in  immediate  proximity  to,  and  territorially  connected  with, 
the  earldom  of  Strathmore,  with  which,  in  its  traditional  and 
historical  associations,  it  is  closely  identified.  From  the 
south  it  is  entered  by  the  rugged  pass  of  Lumleyden,  on 
emerging  from  which,  the  sweet  romantic  glen  with  its 
smiling  homesteads,  cultivated  fields,  and  little  clachan  in 
the  midst  surrounded  by  the  southern  and  northern  ranges  of 
the  Sidlaw  Hills,  bursts  at  once  upon  the  view.  Not  the 
least  piecing  feature  in  the  landscape  is  the  winding  riyulet, 
called  Glamis  bum,  which,  rising  in  the  hill  of  Auchterhouse, 
traverses  the  whole  length  of  the  glen,  cutting  its  devious 
way  through  the  central  hilly  ridge,  and  joining  the  sluggish 
Dean  on  the  demesne  of  Glamis  Castle  on  the  north. 

The  Gaelic  word  Ogle  means  *'wood,"  and  vy  being  a 
corruption  of  buie — "yellow,"  the  literal  meaning  of  both 
would  be,  "  The  glen  of  yellow  wood."  This  interpretation 
would  also  agree  with  tradition  and  history,  for  both  repre- 
sent the  glen  in  ancient  times  as  being  covered  with  wood, 
or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  as  being  an  extensive,  if  not  a 
royal  forest.  As  will  afterwards  be  shown,  the  Ogilvys  of 
Forfarshire  are  descended  from  Gilbert,  third  son  of  Gille- 
bride,  second  Earl  of  Angus;  and  that  in  the   "Douglas 


264  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Peerage  "  it  is  recorded  that  he  obtained  from  King  William 
the  Lion,  the  lands  of  Ogilvy  in  the  parish  of  Glamis,  and 
from  these  lands  assumed  the  surname  of  Ogilvy.  Hector 
Boece,  however,  gives  a  more  romantic,  although  less  reliable 
account  of  the  progenitor  of  the  noble  house  of  Airlie.  He 
relates  that  he  bore  the  name  of  Gilchrist,  and  that  he 
married  a  sister  of  King  William  the  Lion.  The  marriage 
proved  an  unhappy  one,  and  jealous  of  his  honour,  Gilchrist 
strangled  his  wife  at  Mains  near  Dundee,  for  which  he  and 
his  family  were  outlawed.  They  fled  to  England,  but  after 
many  years'  absence  returned  to  Scotland,  furtively  retiring 
to  the  forest  of  Glen  of  Ogilvy,  The  king  happening  to  be 
travelling  through  the  glen  came  upon  an  old  man  and  two 
sons  '' delving  up  turfs."  Surprised  at  the  unexpected  en- 
counter, his  Majesty  requested  an  explanation  of  the  circum- 
stance, when,  probably  thinking  a  frank  confession  would 
stand  them  in  better  stead  than  any  subterfuge  they  might 
invent,  they  at  once  revealed  who  they  were,  expressing  at 
the  same  time,  such  deep  contrition  for  the  murder  of  his 
sister,  that  they  were  not  only  pardoned  and  received  again 
into  favour,  but  had  their  estates  restored,  receiving  also  a 
grant  of  the  lands  of  Ogilvy  in  the  parish  of  Glamis. 

Far  away  back  in  the  eighth  century,  the  Glen  of  Ogilvy, 
tradition  saith,  was  the  chosen  residence  of  St.  .Donivald  and 
his  nine  daughters.  They  lived  [in  the  glen  "  as  in  a  hermitr 
age,  labouring  the  ground  with  their  own  hands,  and  eating 
but  once  a  day,  and  then  but  barley  bread  and  water." 
After  a  long  life  of  fasting  and  incessant  toil,  St  Donivald 
died  in  his  rude  dormitory  in  the  glen ;  the  daughters  there- 
after removing  to  Abemethy,  where  Garnard  King  of  the 
Picts,  had  granted  them  a  lodging  and  oratory.  '*  They  were 
visited  there  by  King  Eugen  VII.  of  Scotland,  who  made 
them  large  presents ;  and  dying  there,  they  were  buried  at 
the  foot  of  a  large  oak,  much  frequented  by  pilgrims  till  the 
Beformation."  They  were  canonised  as  the  "  Nine  Maidens,'' 
and    many  churches  were    dedicated  to  them  throughout 


LEGEND  OF  THE  NINE  MAIDENS.  265 

Scotland.     One  of  these  churches  was  that  of  Strathmartine, 
near  Dundee,  with  which  is  connected  the  famous  tradition 
'  of|the  "Nine  Maidens  of  Pitempan,"  being  devoured  by  a 

serpent  at  the  Nine  Maiden  Well  in  that  parish.  They  are 
intimately  associated  with  Glamis,  for  within  the  Castle 
grounds,  the  Nine  Maiden  Well  is  still  an  object  of  super- 
stitious awe  and  reverence. 

Ths  NimB  ICaidens. 

Barbaric  darkuess  shadowing  o'er. 
Among  the  Picts  in  days  of  yore, 
St  Doniyald,  devoid  of  lore. 
Lived  in  the  Glen  of  Ogilvy. 

Beside  the  forest's  mantling  shade. 
His  daughters  nine  a  temple  made, 
To  shelter  rude  his  aged  head 
Within  the  Glen  of  Ogilvj. 

Charred  wood-burned  ashes  formed  the  floor, 
The  trunks  of  pines  around  the  door 
Supporting  walls  of  branches  hoar. 
Turf -roofed  in  Glen  of  Ogilvy. 

Nine  maidens  were  they  spotless  fair. 
With  silver  skins,  bright  golden  hair, 
Blue-eyed,  vermillion-cheeked,  nowhere 
Their  match  in  Glen  of  Ogilvy. 

Yet  these  fair  maids,  like  muses  nine, 
God -like,  etherealised,  divine, 
To  perfect  some  high-souled  design 
Within  the  Glen  of  Ogilvy, 

Did  with  the  aged  hermit  toil. 
With  their  own  hands  in  daily  moil, 
Hard  labouring  rude  the  barren  soil 
Around  the  Glen  of  Ogilvy. 

Poor  barley  bread  and  water  clear, 
And  that  but  once  a-day,  I  fear. 
Was  all  their  fore  from  year  to  year. 
Within  the  Glen  of  OgUvy. 


266  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

A  chapel  built  they  mde  at  Glamis, 
From  whence,  like  sound  of  waving  palms, 
Arose  on  high  the  voice  of  psalms, 
Near  by  the  Glen  of  Ogilvy. 

The  hermit  dead,  they  left  the  glen, 
E'er  shunning  dread  Uie  haunts  of  men, 
In  oratory  sacred  then, 
Far  from  the  Glen  of  Ogilvy ; 

On  Abemethy's  holy  ground, 
From  whence  their  fame  spread  soon  around, 
Although  no  more  their  songs  resound 
In  their  loved  Glen  of  Ogilvy. 

Nine  maidens  fair  in  life  were  they, 
Nine  maidens  fair  in  death's  last  fray. 
Nine  maidens  fair  in  fame  alway. 
The  maids  of  Glen  of  Ogilvy. 

And  to  their  grave  from  every  land, 
Come  many  a  sorrowing  pilgrim  band. 
The  oak  to  kiss  whose  branches  grand 
Wave  o'er  the  maids  of  Ogilvy. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

LIPE. 

Life  from  its  rapid  shiftiiig  scenes,  appears. 
E'en  in  its  great  realities,  to  all 
Am  but  a  bright,  or  dark  bewildered  dream. 

Have  we  ever  asked  ourselves  the  question,  "  When  did  we 
beffin  to  live  %"  We  breathed,  it  is  true,  at  the  moment  of  our 
birth,  and  certainly  in  a  primary  sense  we  then  began  to  live ; 
but  at  what  particular  period  of  our  life  were  we  for  the  first 
time  perfectly  and  really  intelligibly  conscious  that  we  were  a 
reasonable  and  responsible  being — one  that  had  a  separate 
and  individual  part  to  act  in  the  great  drama  of  life,  irrespec- 
tive of,  and  altogether  unconnected  with,  that  of  any  of  our 
fellows ;  when  we,  fresco4ike,  stood  out  in  our  own  individu- 
ality, and  felt  the  movings  of  our  conscience  within  rousing 
us  from  our  lethargic  repose  to  acquit  ourselves  like  men  in 
the  great  battle  of  the  world ;  in  other  words, — WTien  did  we 
begin  to  live  ? 

Supposing  we  are  now  in  one  of  the  fashionable  suburbs  of 
the  Metropolis,  and  as  the  luxurious  equipages  of  the  great 
and  noble  pass  in  rapid  review  before  us,  we  put  the  question 
in  succession  to  each  of  their  lordly  occupants.  We  might 
fancy  the  almost  uniform  reply  would  be — "  Bom  to  affluence, 
we  have  never  experienced  want;  initiated  not  into  the 
mysteries  of  any  profession,  we  know  not  the  toil  and  labour 
of  those  who  work  for  their  subsistence  by  the  sweat  of  their 
brow,  or  by  the  exercise  of  their  mental  faculties ;  the  stream 
of  life,  on  the  whole,  hath  flowed  so  soft  and  pleasantly  that 
we  can  scarcely  tell  when  we  began  to  live." 


268  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Now,  tilis  may,  to  a  certain  extent,  be  true  as  regards  the 
higher  classes  of  our  land ;  but  its  full  and  unqualified  admis- 
sion would  lead  to  the  supposition  that  the  rich  have  not  the 
same  feelings  as  the  poor,  than  which  there  cannot  be  a 
greater  or  more  transparent  fallacy.  The  sorrows  of  the  rich 
are  as  sharp,  their  trials  as  severe,  their  hearts  as  impressible, 
their  afifections  as  finely-strung  to  tender  emotions,  as  are  the 
sorrows,  the  trials,  and  heart  emotions  of  the  poor.  Nay, 
from  the  upper  ranks  have  sprung  the  greatest  men  of  our 
time,  with  each  and  all  of  whom  there  must  have  been  some 
distinct,  particular  period  of  their  life  which  effectually 
startled  them  into  reflection,  resolution,  and  action. 

But  let  us  for  a  moment  change  the  scene.  We  are  now  in 
one  of  the  poorest  and  most  densely-populated  districts,  where, 
.  with  God-defying  front,  vice  and  wretchedness  go  boldly  hand 
in  hand,  and  the  air  is  polluted  with  the  ribbald  jest  and 
obscene  song ;  the  maudlin  roar  of  the  drunkard,  the  screams 
of  famishing  children,  the  shouts  of  the  profane,  and  the 
groans  of  the  dying.  Ask  that  bold  virago,  with  blotched 
and  swollen  features,  clad  in  tattered  and  faded  garments, 
with  a  puling,  sickly  infant  at  her  breast  and  a  ragged  urchin 
by  her  side,  just  issuing  from  the  gaudily-decorated  gin 
palace ;  or  yonder  hoary-headed  sinner,  reeling  along  to  his 
miserable  den,  with  delirium  in  his  eye  and  curses  on  his 
lip;  or  this  little  half-starved  ''Arab  of  the  city,"  sharp  and 
acute  beyond  his  years,  clothed  in  flaunting  rags,  without 
shoes  to  his  feet  or  covering  to  his  head,  who  never  knew  a 
father's  care  or  a  mother's  love  :  they  will  each  in  their  turn 
laugh  at  your  ignorance  and  simplicity,  and,  with  a  savage  leer, 
in  confidence  tell  you  that,  early  thrown  upon  their  own  re- 
sources, they  began  to  live  with  the  first  dawnings  of  reasons, 
and  that  the  battle  of  life  to  them  has  been  so  fierce  and  pro- 
longed, they  have  always  known  by  bitter  experience  what  it 
is  to  live, 

Buminating  on  these  things  one  beautiful  summer  evening 
in  the  honeysuckle  porch  of  our  suburban  cottage,  far  away 


UFE.  269 

from  the  Howe  of  Stratlimore,  and  relating  to  him  the  train 
of  thought  with  which  my  mind  had  been  occupied,  I  hastily 
put  the  question  to  my  eldest  boy,  an  intelligent  lad  of  some 
sixteen  summers,  when  he  quickly  but  with  great  solemnity 
replied— 

"  When  my  dear  little  brother  died. " 

"But  why,"  I  asked,  "do  you  fix  upon  that  particular 
period?" 

''Because,"  said  he,  "I  never  was  conscious  of  reasoning 
before  that  event." 

''Explain  yourself  still  further,  my  boy.  Do  you  mean  to 
say  your  life  was  all  a  blank  previous  to  the  death  of  little 
Edmund )" 

"  It  was,  my  father.  Our  home  was  such  a  happy  home, 
the  sunshine  of  love  ever  o'er  us,  and  glad  faces  and  merry 
hearts  ever  around  us,  that  I  never  thought  what  life  was  till 
my  little  playmate  grew  sick  and  drooped  and  died.  It  was 
not  so  much  his  pale,  thin  cheek,  his  dim  eye,  or  his  weak 
and  scarcely  audible  voice,  nor  was  it  the  low  and  ceaseless 
moan,  the  pressure  of  his  damp  and  wasted  hand,  nor  his  last 
long  look  before  he  closed  his  eyes  in  death — ^but — ^it  was " 

"  Go  on,  my  son.     Unburthen  everything  to  a  father's  ear. " 

"  It  was  the  silence,  my  father,  that  came  like  a  cloud  over 
everything  when  he  was  gone — that  hushed  and  deep  stillness, 
more  terrible  than  all  beside,  that  oppressed  my  heart  with 
strange  new  feelings,  that  I  could  not  weep,  though  my  heart 
was  troubled  and  heavy  with  grief  Then  all  at  once  the 
thought  struck  my  mind — 'Where  has  my  brother  gone?' 
'  To  God,'  some  inward  monitor  replied.  Tears  then  gushed 
forth  like  a  stream,  my  heart  was  relieved  of  its  heavy  burden, 
a  new  existence  seemed  implanted  within  me,  and  a  new 
world  opened'  up  before  me,  and  I  then  felt  that  in  reality  I 
had  begun  to  live." 

"  God  bless  you,  my  dear  boy.  Live  on,  live  on,  and 
never  allow  the  cares,  or  sorrows,  or  temptations  of  the  world 
to  obscure  for  an  instant  thy  First  impressions  of  Life  ! " 


270      STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

"  But  will  you  now  permit  me,  my  father,  to  put  the  same 
question  to  yourself!" 

^'  Certainly,  my  son.  Although  the  pictures  I  drew  of  the 
great  and  wealthy,  and  of  the  abject  and  suffering  poor,  are 
in  their  details  literally  and  substantially  true,  it  must  be 
admitted  that  these  are  the  extreme  cases  of  obliviousness  on 
the  one  hand  and  precociously  developed  intellect  on  the  other. 
Still,  generally  speaking,  there  must  be  some  event  in  the  lives 
of  most  men  which  served,  if  not  as  the  turning-point  of  their 
destiny,  at  least  to  direct  their  thoughts  into  a  new  channel, 
and  add  fresh  impulse  to  all  their  actions.  Affliction,  death, 
some  sudden  and  severe  temporal  loss,  disappointment  in  love, 
the  estrangement  of  friends,  or  the  malignity  of  enemies,  may 
each  in  their  turn,  to  differently  constituted  minds,  have  been 
the  cause  of  a  complete  revulsion  in  their  feelings  and  change 
of  their  deportment,  so  that  they  have  begun  in  reality  to  lead 
a  new  life.  I  am  no  exception  to  this  rule  myself,  but  the 
particular  circumstance  which  tinged  with  reflection  my  after 
life  may  appear  trivial  in  your  eyes  when  compared  with  any 
of  those  I  have  enumerated,  or  even  with  that  sad  and  solemn 
event  which  inspired  new  life  and  opened  up  a  new  world  to 
yourself." 

During  this  conversation,  my  little  bright-haired  Mary  had, 
unknown  to  me,  entwined  her  arms  around  her  brother's  neck, 
and  now,  gazing  intently  with  her  large  hazel,  dreamy  eyes 
into  mine,  joined  her  entreaties  to  those  of  her  brother  that  I 
would  relate  to  them  this  little  incident  in  my  history. 

"  Do  tell  us,  dear  father,"  again  repeated  Mary ;  *'  we  are  so 
anxious  to  know,  and  we  shall  listen  so  attentively. " 

"  You  have  often  heard  me  speak  of  my  mountain  home  t" 

'^  Oh,  yes,'*  said  Maiy ;  "  we  know  all  about  the  pretty  little 
homestead  and  the  mill,  in  Strathmore,  the  daisied  meadow 
and  the  bonnie  burn,  and  the  grand  old  ancestral  trees ;  the 
honeysuckled  porch,  the  moss-covered  arbour,  the  lowing  of 
the  kine  on  the  leas,  and  the  bleating  of  the  sheep  on  the 
hills." 


LIFE.  271 

"  7es/'  rejoined  Harry;  ''and  the  great  bleak  mountains 
and  weird  old  castles,  with  their  stirring  stories  of  knights 
and  cavaliers  and  'ladyes  gay/  of  tilt  and  tournament  and 
foray." 

'' '  Then,  my  children,  I  need  not  describe  that  home  you 
seem  to  know  so  well,  but  shall  at  once  proceed  to  my 
nairativa  My  boyhood  had  passed  so  pleasantly  away  that 
hardly  a  cloud  had  ever  obscured  its  brightness.  A  fond 
father  and  a  doting  mother  had  done  everything  for  their 
boy's  present  and  future  happiness  that  an  enduring  love, 
sanctified  by  religious  principles,  could  dictate ;  and  the  time 
had  at  last  arrived  when  I  was  to  bid  farewell  to  this  happy 
home,  and  to  go  forth  to  the  world  to  act  my  part  on  the 
great  stage  of  life.  I  had  already  bade  adieu  to  my  merry- 
hearted  school-fellows,  and  received  the  sage  advice  and  part- 
ing benediction  of  my  respected  preceptor.  On  the  day 
before  I  left,  I  paid  some  parting  visits  to  my  friends  in  the 
glen,  and  while  each  and  all  expressed  their  sorrow  at  my 
departure,  I  never  felt  so  very  happy,  nor  so  free  from  anxiety 
and  care. 

"  As  I  went  on  my  homeward  way,  there  were  many  things 
to  attract  and  interest  me.  The  village  green,  the  d£urk  pine 
wood,  for, — 

I  thought  the  Indies,  Isle  of  Pakns, 
Could  ne'er  outvie  the  woods  of  Glaznis : 

— ^ihe  murmuring  streamlet,  the  heath-clad  hills — shall  I  ever 
see  them  again?  Sometimes  such  thoughts  would  intrude 
themselves ;  but  the  sun  shone  so  brightly,  the  birds  sang  so 
sweetly,  and  the  bonnie  bum  meandered  so  softly,  that  I 
gave  my  heart  up  to  its  full  current  of  gushing  gladness,  and 
thought  not  of  the  morrow. 

''  When  I  reached  Airniefoul  there  was  an  unusual  stillness 
in  the  house.  My  father  was  sitting  in  his  old  arm-chair, 
apparently  in  deep  and  troubled  thought ;  my  mother  was 
busy  packing  my  wardrobe,  and  the  servants  were  moving 
noiselessly  about  their  household  duties : — 


272  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDa 

Tbe  wee  herd  Uddie  at  his  broae, 

The  tears  felt  trickling  down  his  noee  !  ' 

M7  first  feeling  was  that  of  depression,  as  if  some  dread  \ 

calamity  had  happened  or  was  about  to  happen,  never  once 
imagining  that  all  this  interest  was  solely  and  altogether 
centred  in  myself.  Quickly  rallying,  however,  I  passed  the 
evening  in  my  usual  cheerful  manner,  although  my  btiiet 
and  mother  spoke  much  less  than  usual,  and,  to  my  astonish- 
ment, never  uttered  a  word  unless  in  reply  to  some  question 
of  mine  regarding  my  journey  on  the  morrow,  and  never  said, 
contrary  to  their  usual  custom,  it  is  time  to  retire  to  rest 

''  Alas !  thoughtless  Youth,  the  morrow  will  have  pangs 
sufficient  for  itself;  and — the  last  night — could  a  father  or  a 
mother's  heart  desire  that  their  boy  should  be  ever  out  of  their 
sight  1 

"  I  went  to  my  bed-chamber  of  my  own  accord,  and  slept 
soundly  till  softly  aroused  by  the  sound  of  footsteps  stealthily 
proceeding  across  the  room.  I  slightly  raised  my  head,  and 
beheld  my  mother  on  her  knees  in  the  attitude  of  prayer,  and 
though  no  words  escaped  her  lips,  she  was  doubtless 
supplicating  a  blessing  on  her  darling  boy,  from  whom  she 
was  so  soon  to  part,  probably  for  ever.  I  for  some  time  lay 
as  if  asleep,  and  often  did  slie  come  and  stroke  the  golden 
tresses  from  off  my  forehead  and  place  her  warm  and  feverish 
hand  in  mine,  and  say.     *  Who  will  care  for  my  boy  now  ? ' 

"We  were  to  start  at  an  early  hour,  and  I  knew  that 
hour  must  be  past :  still  she  awoke  me  not !  Oh !  who  can 
tell  the  feelings  of  a  mother's  heart  ?  To  awake  me  would  be 
crueL  Let  the  fond  mother  gaze  yet  a  little  longer  on  her 
darling  boy ! 

''Comprehending  her  feelings,  I  arose,  and  made  ready  for 
my  journey.  The  cart  with  my  luggage  had  already  started^ 
and  my  father  was  ready  to  accompany  me  a  short  way  on 
the  road.  I  turned  to  bid  my  mother  farewell.  Not  a  word 
she  spoke — ^but  oh !  that  last,  long  look,  so  sweetly  solemn, 
yet  so  full  of  yearning  love — ^that  last,  long,  long  embrace 
which  held  her  to  her  boy,  till  gently  parted  from  him  for 


f 


UFSL  273 

ever.     Excuse  these  tears,  mj  children,  they  are  a  tribute  to 
a  mother's  love. 

'*  Slowly  my  father  and  I  proceeded  on  our  way.  Our 
words  were  few,  and  neither  seemed  inclined  to  interrupt  the 
reveries  of  the  other. 

The  dew  still  gemmed  the  shooting  com. 
Dull,  grey  and  misty,  bleak  the  mom, 
The  lark  had  not  beg^an  to  sing, 
The  linnet  smoothed  her  dewy  wing ; 
Yet,  curling  smoke  from  homesteads  rose. 
The  fox,  now  roused  from  his  repose, 
With  timid  hare,  sped  o'er  the  glen, 
Avoiding  haunts  of  murderous  men  ; 
Defiant,  brave,  without  alarm, 
Cook  answered  cook  from  many  a  farm, 
While  moorland  birds  no  moi«  forlorn, 
Announced,  while  onwards  quickly  borne, 
With  whirring  flight  the  break  of  mom. 
The  bleating  sheep  on  Sidlaw  HUls, 
The  murmuring  rush  of  mountain  rills, 
Soft  mingled  with  the  early  lay 
Of  shepherd  laddie,  as  he  lay 
Wrapped  in  his  ragged  tartan  plaid. 
The  fragrant  heather  for  hie  bed. 
Shared  by  his  faithful  dog  alway, 
All  welcomed  glad  the  opening  day ; 
Which  now,  soft  blushing  in  the  east, 
Seemed  to  arise  at  their  behest. 
All  glorious  as  the  smiling  sun 
Proclaimed  with  joy  the  day  begun, 
While  lark  and  linnet  cheerily  aaog, 
With  bursting  song  the  wild-woods  rang ; 
The  maiden  blithe  by  sunny  bield, 
The  ploughman  by  his  team  afield^ 
The  neighing  horse,  the  lowing  kine. 
All  felt  the  influence  divine  : 
While  hind  to  early  market  sent, 
His  loQgwhip  cracked  in  merriment ; 
And  lasses  trudging  o'er  the  road. 
Now  lighter  felt  their  heavy  load, 
And  smirked  and  smiled  as  they  passed  by^ 

As  if  we  would  their  butter  buy. 

« 

Surrounded  grim  by  Sidlaw  hills, 
All  watered  fresh  by  mountain  rills, 

S 


274  STRATHMORB  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

With  skurtdng  oopsewood  here  and  there, 
The  hill  tops  leaying  bleak  and  bare, 
On  which  the  shepherd  feeds  his  flock, 
Sometimes,  nay  oft,  a  scanty  stock  ; 
A  little  hamlet  with  its  school, 
Its  streamlet,  bridge,  and  minnow  pool, 
And  hostelry  well  stored  and  found, 
With  smiling  homesteads  all  around. 
Removed  afar  from  haunts  of  men, 
Lonely,  yet  sweet,  thou  bonnie  glen  1 
'Tween  Drybums  bleak,  Kilmundie  warm. 
There's  many  a  snug  and  smiling  farm, 
Many  a  cozy  home  the  sun  shines  on 
From  Aimiefoul  to  Middleton. 
May  plenty,  virtue,  peace  and  love, 
With  choicest  blessings  from  above, 
Be  yours  in  perpetuity, 
Who  dwell  in  Glen  of  Ogilvy. 

"  Afc  last  we  reached  the  top  of  the  Sidlaw  Hills.  Behind 
me  lay  the  glen  where  I  was  born ;  before  me  the  untrodden, 
unknown  world,  where  I  felt  I  was  doomed  to  die. 

"  *  We  must  now  part,  my  son,'  my  father  tremulously  said, 
*  and  I  commend  you  to  God,  who  is  able  and  willing  to 
protect  you  in  all  your  wanderings.  Trust  ye  in  Him,  and 
you  shall  never  have  cause  to  be  ashamed.  Take  His  Holy 
Word  as  your  comforter  and  guide,  and  if  we  never  meet 
again  in  this  world,  we  shall  meet  at  last  in  our  heavenly 
Father's  house  above.' 

"  Presenting  me  with  a  Bible,  he  fervently  embraced  me, 
turning  abruptly  his  steps  homeward. 

"  Not  anticipating  either  the  gift  or  the  solemn  benediction 
by  which  it  had  been  accompanied,  I  stood  for  some  minutes 
gazing  on  the  retreating  form  of  my  venerable  parent,  when, 
just  before  turning  the  brow  of  the  hill,  he  turned  round  and 
waved  his  last  adieu.  I  would  have  run  after  him  and 
embraced  him,  and  said  many  things  to  him  which  I  now 
remembered,  but  I  was  spell-bound  to  the  spot — all  my  regrets 
were  vain.  I  looked  in  the  direction  he  had  gone,  but  he  had 
disappeared ! 

''  Then  new  thoughts  and  feelings  rushed  through  my  mind 


LIFE.  275 

as  I  experienced  the  bitter  pangs  of  remorse  at  losing  the 
last  opportunity  I  might  ever  have  of  unburthening  my  heart 
to  a  beloved  parent.  And  then  came  the  sad  and  withering 
thought  which  never  ceased  to  influence  me  in  after-life — to 
be  within  a  short  distance  of  those  we  love,  and  not  to  be  able 
to  take  advantage  of  our  position ;  to  live  in  the  same  world,  and 
see  the  same  sun  and  sky,  and  breathe  the  same  atmosphere, 
and  yet  be  separated  from  our  friends  by  continents  and  by  seas, 
is  the  greatest  trial  and  the  most  grievous  burden  that  mortals 
can  be  called  upon  to  bear.  We  lose  our  dearest  by  death, 
but  the  very  fact  that  their  doom  is  irrevocable,  and  that  we 
cannot  by  any  possibility  alter  the  decree,  makes  us  resigned 
to  bereavements,  however  severe.  But  the  thought  that 
distance  only  separates  us  from  our  friends,  and  yet  we  can  see 
them  no  more,  is  more  intensely  agonising  than  losing  them 
by  death  itself. 

"Such,  my  children,  were  my  first  impressions  of  lifk'* 


1 


I 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

DEATH. 

»<  InyidiouB  Oraye  !  how  doet  thoa  rend  in  sunder 
Whom  lore  has  knit,  and  sTrnpaihy  made  one." 

Bhir, 


''  Have  you  ever  seen  a  dead  poet  1 " — excitedly  exclaimed  an 
esteemed  friend,  as  I  met  him  sometime  ago  on  a  winter 
afternoon  in  one  of  the  busiest  thoroughfares  in  Dundee. 
Startled  by  the  weird-like  question,  I  kindly  requested  an  ex- 
planation of  its  meaning.  My  Mend  then  with  the  greatest 
tenderness  of  feeling  informed  me  that  James  Gow,  the 
weaver-poet,  had  died  a  pauper's  death  the  day  before,  in  a 
common  lodging-house  in  the  Overgate ;  requesting  my  pre- 
sence at  the  sametime  at  his  funeral,  the  expenses  of  which. 
Lord  Kinnaird,  with  his  usual  generosity,  had  just  telegraphed 
that  he  would  most  willingly  liquidate. 

On  my  way  homewards,  I  felt  rather  at  sea  in  regard  to  the 
personnelle  of  the  weaver -poet ;  when  aU  at  once  I  recollected, 
that  some  five  and  twenty  years  before,  I  had  read  and  re-read 
with  the  greatest  delight,  some  beautiful  pieces  of  sterling 
poetry,  in  Tait's  Magazine,  and  Chambers'  Journal,  by  James 
Gow,  author  of  "  Lays  of  the  Loom."  These  fugitive  pieces 
were  entitled — "  Alic  the  Pauper  " — "  The  Orphan  Laddie  " — 
"  Helen  the  Outcast "— "  The  Snow-Drop  "— "  The  Orphan's 
Grave,"  &c.,  suggestive  now  of  sad  and  touching  memories. 
These,  as  well  as  his  "  Lays  of  the  Loom,"  were  all  composed, 
like  Tannahill,  as  he  worked  at  his  loom,  then  familiarly 
termed — "  the  four  posts  of  misery  ! " 

On  recovering  from  a  severe  attack  of  typhus  fever,  some 


DEATH.  277 

twenty-five  years  before  he  died,  he  found  the  genius  of  poetry 
had  deserted  him,  and  from  that  time  to  the  day  of  his  death, 
his  life  had  been  one  of  melancholy  silence  and  gloom,  and  a 
continued  struggle  with  poverty  and  want. 

On  the  forenoon  of  the  following  day,  after  the  conversation 
recorded  had  taken  place,  I  went  alone  in  a  very  melancholy 
mood  to  see  the  remains  of  the  poor  weaver-poet  Up  a  dark 
narrow  close,  midway  between  Barrack  Street  and  Lindsay 
Street,  I  groped  my  devious  way  until  I  found  the  lodging- 
house  I  sought.  And  there,  in  a  dark,  ill-ventilated  room, 
scantily  furnished,  yet  scrupulously  neat  and  clean,  on  a  com- 
mon deal  table,  rested  the  black  coffin  of  the  dead  poet. 
With  tremulous  hand  I  gently  raised  the  ghastly  shroud,  and 
with  tearful  eyes  long  and  tenderly  gazed  on  the  pleasant  and 
resigned-like  features  of  him  whom  I  had  never  seen  till  his 
eyes  had  closed  in  death,  and  his  spirit  had  gone  to  God 
who  gave  it. 

Two  days  afterwards  we  buried  him  up  yonder  in  the 
Eastern  Necropolis,  shewing  that  if  in  his  life  he  had  receded 
from  the  world's  gaze,  in  his  death  he  had  not  been  forgotten. 

On  a  bright,  cloudless  day  on  the  following  spring,  with  a 
heart  full  of  emotion,  I  stood  alone  by  the  grave  of  the  poor 
poet  This  emotional  feeling,  however,  did  not  arise  from  a 
sorrowful  regret  for  him  who  was  calmly  sleeping  below,  but 
from  a  deep  feeling  of  holy  gratitude  to  those  good  friends, 
by  whose  delicate  kindness  the  "Snow-Drop"  was  now 
blooming  in  all  its  pure  loveliness  over  the  grave  of  him  who 
had  so  sweetly  sung  its  praise,  and  which,  while  on  earth,  he 
had  loved  so  welL  A  neat,  little  memorial  stone  had  also 
been  erected  at  the  poet's  grave,  with  a  representation  of  the 
snow-drop  cut  in  bas-relief  at  the  top,  and  the  simple  inscrip- 
tion beneath  of  the  date  of  his  birth,  and  the  date  of  his 
death. 

In  Msmobiah. 

I  knew  thee  not  in  life,  'twas  only  when  the  snow 
Of  Death  lay  icy  cold  upon  thy  marble  brow ; 


278  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

The  child  of  grief,  and  yet  uo  trace  of  aorrow  there, 

Thy  lips  had  closed,  it  seemed,  while  breathing  words  of  prayer. 

Thine  not  the  high-pitched  key  of  royal  nightingale. 
Nor  gashing  note  of  thrush,  borne  richly  on  the  gale. 
But  to  the  linnet's  song  thy  harp  of  music  strung, 
Thy  strains  were  sweet  and  true  as  ever  poet  sung. 

The  **  Snow-Drop  **  couldst  thou  sing,  but  'mong  thy  notes  of  joy. 
Low,  sad,  the  ''  Orphan's  GraTo,"  like  undertones  deploy ; 
Thus,  ever  with  the  song  of  bird  upon  the  tree, 
Like  distant  dix^ges  come  the  wailings  of  the  sea  ! 

The  son  of  poverty,  as  there  thou  calmly  slept 

'Midst  want  and  woe,  could  I  have  child-like  sobb'd  and  wept ; 

Oh  Genius  !  must  it  be  thy  ever-chequered  doom 

To  languish  in  neglect,  cloud-wrapt  in  deepest  gloom  I 

No  I  no  !  God  wills  it  not.  His  every  gift  is  giv'n. 
To  gild  the  scenes  of  earth,  and  raise  our  hopes  to  heav'n  : 
Die  ?  die  !  we  love  not  death  ;  we  wish,  we  pray  for  life, 
That  manfully  may  we  do  battle  in  the  strife. 

Ye  bright  immortals  blest,  victorious  in  the  fight, 
Who  'midst  the  sunshine  walk,  robed  with  celestial  light, 
Look  on  our  struggles  here,  that  nerved  we  be  withal 
To  wrestle  on  until  in  harness  brave  we  fall ! 

By  a  natural  transition  of  thought,  my  mind  reverts  to  the 
time,  when,  in  my  early  youth,  I  came  into  close  contact  with 
Death,  and  gazed  for  the  first  time,  with  sorrowful,  yet 
inexperienced  eyes,  on  the  face  of  the  dead.  This  reminiscence 
of  former  days,  carries  us — after  this,  I  trust,  pardonable 
digression — again  to  the  sunny  fields  of  Strathmore,  and  its 
wide-spreading,  glorious  sea-board  at  Montrose. 

I  have  often  thought  of  and  never  can  forget  that  bright 
and  beautiful  summer  morning,  on  which  at  early  dawn,  and 
at  an  early  age,  I  took  my  departure  from  my  father's  farm  in 
the  **  Howe/'  to  be  entered  as  a  pupil  in  the  far-famed  Academy 
of  Montrose.  My  conveyance  was  a  very  homely,  old- 
fashioned  one,  being  none  other  than  an  ordinary  coupe-cart 
with  a  heavy  slow-paced  horse,  called  *^  Dicer,'*  and  a  raw, 
young  hind  as  my  postillion.  My  father  having  previously 
made  the  necessary  arrangements  at  Montrose,  everything 


DEATH.  279 

had  been  done  to  make  the  journey  as  comfortable  to  me  as 
possible.  Clean  wheaten  straw  was  plentifully  strewn  around 
la  the  bottom  of  the  cart,  while  sundry  sacks  of  cha£f,  as  an 
apology  for  seats,  lined  the  sides  and  top  of  the  primitive  con- 
veyance ;  while  a  mother's  hand  could  be  detected  in  sundry 
little  arrangements  as  to  creature  comforts  for  the  young  and 
inexperienced  traveller. 

Up  the  hill  of  Hayston,  and  down  the  Plans  of  Thornton 
we  went ;  passed  quietly  through  the  still  slumbering  villages 
of  Kinnettles  and  Douglastown ;  lieaching  the  county  town  of 
Forfar,  before  a  curl  of  smoke  arose  from  its  chimneys,  or  any 
of  its  denizens  were  seen  perambulating  its  silent  streets. 
Taking  the  old  road  to  Brechin,  we  wended  slowly,  yet 
delightfully  on  our  way. 

Ascending  the  rugged  acclivity  behind  Turin  Hill,  and 
just  before  reaching  the  confines  of  Aberlemno,  I  was  aroused 
from  my  dreamy  reverie  by  the  wild  and  thrilling  cry  of  my 
conductor : — 

«  The  Sea !    The  Sea  1    The  Sea  ! " 

With  a  new  impulse  of  life,  and  feeling  the  divine  extacy  of 
a  higher  existence,  I  started  to  my  feet,  and  intently  gazed  in 
the  direction  indicated.  In  the  far  distance  a  mystic,  ethereal, 
and  apparently  boundless  waste  of  waters  stretched  in  match- 
less, indescribable  beauty  to  the  furthermost  verge  of  the 
eastern  horizon  ;  while  the  ships  on  its  calm  and  silvery  sur- 
face, the  bright  cerulean  sky  above,  and  the  golden  shore 
around,  lent  additional  beauty  and  animation  to  the  scene. 
And  this  was  my  first  view  of  the  sea !  I  had  read  of  it, 
dreamed  of  it,  sung  of  it,  and  there  it  lay  before  me,  the  grand 
reality  infinitely  exceeding  the  fanciful  ideal  of  the  most 
imaginative  of  poetic  conceptions  1 

HaQ  I  Hail  !  Thou  erer  blem'd,  great,  glorious  sea  ! 
How  leapt  mj  young  heart  glad  with  joy,  when,  lone. 
Thee  first  I  saw  from  yonder  heath-olad  hill, 
All  stm  and  peaceful,  slumbering  calm,  begirt 
With  goldon  radiance ,  as  the  summer  sun, 
With  prodigal  effulgence,  thee  enchased 


280  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

With  regal  glory,  and  the  sweet  soft  winds, 
Fresh  from  the  fields  of  heaven,  swept  gently  o'er 
Thy  fragrant  bosom,  fondly  kissing  thee 
With  warm  and  honied  lipe,  or  cresting  white 
The  idle  wavriets,  as  they  rushing  broke, 
Melodious  murmuring  on  the  yellow  sands. 
Sweet  scene  t  Bright  mom  I  Ekigraven  on  my  heart 
To  be  remembered  ever  1 

Longy  long,  next  day  from  the  sandy  bent-covered  hills,  I 
gazed  upon  the  broad  expanse  of  ocean,  stretched  out  in 
dreamy  beauty  before  my  enraptured  vision,  while  far  away 
on  the  verge  of  the  horizon,  the  stately  ships  like  things  of  life, 
were  sailing  to  and  fro ;  and  near  at  hand,  the  fishing-boa^s, 
with  their  dark  brown  sails  and  hardy  crews,  came  bounding 
o^er  the  sea  to  the  measured  strokes  of  their  glancing  oars,  and 
the  rude  yet  tuneful  numbers  of  their  sea-loved  songs.  With 
wondering  awe,  my  unpractised  eye  followed  the  long,  resound- 
ing swell  of  the  heaving  billows,  and  listened  with  a  mixture 
of  mystical  delight  and  superstitious  fear  to  the  never-ceas- 
ing, weary  moan  of  the  ever-surging  troubled  sea,  until  my 
virgin  thoughts,  in  all  their  pristine  exuberance,  burst  spon- 
taneously forth  into  tumultuous  song  : — 

Whataileth  thee,  0  Sea? 
Asleep  or  awake,  thy  ceaseless  groan. 
Thee  near  or  away,  thy  weaiy  moan, 

Sad,  dreamy  come  to  me. 

.     What  aileth  thee,  0  Sea  ? 
In  storm  or  in  calm,  thy  heaving  breast, 
WUd  surging,  e'er  tells  of  'deep  unrest, 
And  the  pain  that  wasteth  thee. 

What  aileth  thee,  0  Sea  ? 
Now  riding  aloft  on  Uiy  billowy  way, 
Now  drenching  the  rocks  with  thy  weeping  spray. 

In  thy  mad  agony. 

What  aileth  thee,  0  Sea  ? 
Now  feigning  to  sleep  in  the  soft  summer  beams, 
Thy  bosom  bejewelled  with  diamond  gleams, 

To  hide  thy  hypocrisy. 


DEATH.  281 

What  aileth  thee,  0  Sea  f 
Do  the  spirits  of  those  in  thy  deep  coral  caves, 
Load  thunder  aboTC  the  roar  of  the  waves — 

'  Slain  1  slain,  O  Sea,  by  thee  1* 

What  aileth  thee,  0  Sea  f 
A  murderer^s  conscience  ?    Ha  1  ha  !  that  shriek  ; 
A  hell  e'er  within  thee  ?    Speak  !  0  speak  ! 

Is  it  thia  that  aileth  thee  ? 

Montrose  is  a  beautiful  seaport  town  on  the  east  coast  of 
Scotland.  Situate  on  an  extensive  peninsula,  with  its  lofty 
stone  buildings  and  splendid  church  spire,  and  surrounded  by 
undulating  hills  studded  with  hamlets,  and  country  seats 
embosomed  among  umbrageous  woods,  it  presents,  when 
viewed  from  the  sea,  a  very  attractive  and  picturesque  appear- 
ance. It  is,  besides,  one  of  those  few  towns  that  does  not  sink 
in  your  estimation  on  a  nearer  approach  or  inspection ;  for, 
with  the  exception  that  in  the  principal  street  a  great  number 
of  the  houses  are  constructed  Flemish-like,  with  their  gables 
in  front,  there  is,  on  the  whole,  a  uniform  grace  and  elegance 
in  everything  that  meets  the  eye,  which  leaves  on  the  mind  a 
very  pleasing  and  favourable  impression. 

The  ancient  name  of  Montrose  is  said  to  have  been  Celurca 
or  Salorky,  and  this  is  the  designation  given  to  it  by  Boyce, 
Dr  Arthur  Johnstone,  and  other  early  writers.  Although 
the  motto  on  the  town's  seal — Mare  Ditat  Rosa  Degorat 
— would  seem  to  refer  to  its  present  name  having  been  derived 
from  the  Latin  "  Mons  Bosarum" — "  The  Mount  of  Roses," 
— this  derivation  is  evidently  fanciful,  the  name  in  ancient  ^ 
charters  being  Monross— Ross  signifying  a  promontory  be- 
tween two  waters,  and  Mon  or  Momh  the  back  of  the  promon- 
tory, these  two  names  being  certainly  more  descriptive  of  its 
situation.  The  time  of  the  erection  of  the  town  and  castle  of 
Montrose  must  have  been  very  remote,  as  it  is  stated  in  Aber- 
cromby's  "  Martial  Achievements,"  that  when  the  Danes  in- 
vaded Scotland  in  the  year  980,  they  destroyed  both  the  toion 
and  casUe,  putting  the  citizens  to  the  sword.    In  1244,  the  town 


282  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

was  entirely  consumed  by  fire :  and  in  allusion  to  this  con- 
flagration, the  learned  Camden  says,  "  the  town  is  built  out  of 
the  ruins  of  another  of  the  same  name." 

The  earliest  account  of  the  town  is  given  by  Ochterlony  who 
describes  it  as  "  a  very  handsome  well-built  toune,  of  consider- 
able trade  in  all  places  abroad ;  good  houses  all  of  stone, 
excellent  large  streets,  a  good  tolbuith  and  church,  good 
shipping  of  their  own,  a  good  shore  at  the  toune,  a  myle  with- 
in the  river  of  South  Esk ;  but  the  entrie  is  very  dangerous  for 
strangers  that  know  it  not,  by  reason  of  a  great  bank  of  sand 
that  lyeth  before  the  mouth  of  the  entrie,  called  Long  Ennell, 
but  that  defect  is  supplied  by  getting  pilots  from  the  neighbour- 
ing fisher-towns  of  Ulishavene  or  Ferredene,  who  know  it  so 
well  that  they  cannot  mistake."  He  says  further,  that  "  they 
are  mighty  fyne  burgesses,  and  delicate  and  painfull  mer- 
chants. There  have  been  men  of  great  substance  in  that 
toune  of  a  long  time,  and  yet  are,  who  have  and  are  purchas- 
ing good  estates  in  the  country.  The  generalitie  of  the 
burgesses  and  merchants  do  very  (ar  exceed  those  in  any 
other  toune  in  the  shyre." 

Daniel  de  Foe  in  his  tour  through  Scotland  in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  eighteenth  century,  speaks  of  Montrose  as  '*  a 
pretty  seaport  town,  and  one  street  very  good ;  the  houses 
well  built,  and  the  town  well  pav'd.  The  inhabitants  here, 
as  at  Dundee,  are  very  genteel,  and  have  more  the  air  of 
gentlemen  than  merchants."  Captain  Franck,  in  1657-8,  in 
*^  Northern  Memoirs,"  says  in  grandiloquent  terms  that 
Montrose  is  called  ''  a  beauty  that  lies  concealed,  as  it  were, 
in  the  bosom  of  Scotland;  most  delicately  dressed  up  and 
adorned  with  excellent  buildings,  whose  foundations  are  laid 
with  polished  stone,  and  her  ports  all  washed  with  silver 
streams,  that  trickle  down  from  the  famous  Ask!" 

Dr  Johnson  visited  Montrose  when  on  his  journey  to  the 
Western  Islands.  He  describes  the  Episcopal  Chapel  of  the 
day — St.  Peter's,  since  destroyed  by  fire — ^as  "  clean  to  a 
degree  unknown  in  any  other  part  of  Scotland,  with  com- 


DEATH.  283 

ihodious  galleries,  and  what  was  less  expected  with  an  organ/' 
Burns  who  visited  his  coasin,  Mr  Burness,  there  in  1787,  in 
less  poetical  language  calls  it  ''a  finely  situated  handsome 
town,"  which,  in  every  respect  it  certainly  is,  with  its  broad 
and  splendid  High  Street,  almost  rivalling  the  Trongate  of 
Glasgow,  or  the  High  Street  of  Edinburgh.  Sir  Thomas  the 
Rymer,  however,  dooms  it  to  inglorious  destruction,  pro- 
phesying, with  his  usual  truthfulness,  that — 

"  Bonny  Monross  will  be  a  moai, 
When  Brechin's  a  borough  town  ; 
An'  Forfar  will  be  Forfar  still, 
When  Dundee's  a'  dung  down  ! " 

When  Sir  William  Wallace  resigned  the  guardianship  of 
Scotland  in  1299,  and  retired  to  France,  the  northern  lairds 
of  Scotland  sent  Squire  Guthrie  to  request  his  return  in 
order  to  assist  in  opposing  the  EnglisL  In  obedience  to  this 
request  Wallace  landed  at  Montrose  in  1303,  which  historical 
event  is  thus  quaintly  alluded  to  by  Blind  Harry : — 

"  Na  ma  with  him  he  brocht  off  that  cimtre, 
Bot  his  awn  men,  and  Schyr  Thomas  the  Kuicht, 
In  Flawndrys  land  that  past  with  all  thar  mycht. 
Guthries  barg  was  at  the  Slus  left  styll ; 
To  se  thai  went  with  ane  full  egyr  will. 
Bath  Forth  and  Tay  thai  left  and  passyt  by 
On  the  north  cost,  (gr^d)  Guthre  was  thar  gy, 
In  Munrou  liawyn  that  brocht  hym  to  the  land  ; 
Till  trew  Scottis  it  was  a  blyth  tithand. 
Schyr^on  Ramsay,  that  worthi  was  and  wycht, 
Frae  Ochtyrhouss  the  way  he  chesyt  lycht. 
To  meite  Wallace  with  men  off  armes  Strang ; 
Off  his  duellyng  thai  had  thocht  wondyr  lang. 
The  trew  Ruwau  come  als  with  outyn  baid ; 
In  Baman  wod  he  had  his  lugying  maid. 
Barklay  be  that  to  Wallace  semblyt  fast ; 
With  thre  hundreth  to  Ochtyrhouss  he  past. " 

The  old  steeple,  which  was  only  taken  down  in  1832,  was, 
besides  being  of  unknown  antiquity,  an  object  of  some 
historical  note.  It  was  from  that ''  Stiple  head, ''  says  Melvill, 
that  "  the  fyre  of  joy"  blazed  in  June  1566,  when  the  news 


284  STR'ATHMORE:  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

of  the  birth  of  King  James  was  announced.  Previously  in 
the  year  1493,  it  had  been  the  scene  of  Sir  Thomas  Froster's 
murder  by  young  Erskine  of  Dun.  Froster  was  a  priest  of 
Montrose,  to  whose  father  Frskine  granted  a  bond  of  assyth- 
ment  or  blood  money  for  the  offence. 

Between  the  town  and  the  sea  a  large  level  tract  of  green- 
sward stretches  away  for  many  miles,  which  in  Fngland 
would  be  called  the  "Downs,"  but  to  which  the  name  of 
"  Links  "  is  given  in  Scotland ;  while  beyond  the  bent-covered 
sandhills  the  German  Ocean  lashes  the  rugged  rocks,  or  breaks 
in  gentle  wavelets  on  the  tawny  sands.  When  standing  on 
these  sandy  knolls,  the  attention  of  the  stranger  is  always 
directed  to  the  "Ennet,"  a  large  bank  of  quicksands,  where 
many  a  melancholy  and  heartrending  shipwreck  has  happened 
within  hail  of  the  shore.  Between  the  Ennet  and  the  rocks, 
to  the  south,  flows  the  South  Esk,  a  narrow,  deep,  and  rapid 
stream,  forming  the  natural  inlet  to  the  harbour,  which  widen- 
ing considerably  opposite  the  town,  again  contracts  beneath 
a  handsome  Suspension  Bridge,  till  its  waters  fill  an  immense 
basin,  to  the  west,  which,  when  the  tide  is  full,  presents  the 
appearance  of  a  capacious  lake,  with  numerous  boats  and 
small  craft  skimming  its  clear  and  silvery  surface. 

There  is  one  spot  to  me,  however,  more  interesting  than  any 
other,  and  that  is  the  lesser  Links,  on  which  the  Academy 
stands ;  for  on  that  bright  greensward,  in  boyish,  healthful 
sport,  I  spent  many  a  happy  day  of  my  youth,  and  within  the 
precincts  of  that  classical  seminary  I  commenced  my  educa- 
tional career.  Montrose  has  earned  the  proud  distinction  of 
having  been  the  cradle  of  the  Greek  language  in  Scotland. 
Even  in  the  days  of  The  Bruce,  the  public  schools  had  gained 
such  eminence  that  he  granted  a  sum  out  of  the  public  revenue 
for  their  support 

The  first  teacher  of  Greek  at  Montrose  Academy  was  a 
Frenchman  of  the  name  of  Marsilliers,  who,  in  1534,  John 
Erskine  of  Dun  brought  from  the  continent  for  the  purpose  of 
teaching  that  classic  language.    Greek,  previously,  was  almost 


DEATH.  285 

unknown  in  the  coantrj.  Andrew  Melville,  the  father  of 
Presbytery  in  Scotland,  was  educated  in  Montrose  ;  and  when 
in  his  fourteenth  year,  he  went  to  the  University  of  St. 
Andrews,  he  surprised  his  teachers  by  his  knowledge  of  Greek, 
with  which  they  were  wholly  unacquainted.  Marsilliers  was 
succeeded  by  his  pupil,  the  celebrated  George  Wishart,  who, 
for  his  zeal  in  openly  teaching  and  circulating  the  Greek  New 
Testament,  was  summoned  to  appear  before  Bishop  Hepburn 
of  Brechin  on  a  charge  of  heresy,  which  he  eluded  by  escaping 
to  England  where  he  remained  for  some  years.  The  grammar 
school  had  the  honour  of  being  taught  by  David  Lindsay,  son 
to  the  laird  of  Edzell  Lindsay,  who  was  afterwards  bishop,  first 
of  Brechin,  and  then  of  Edinburgh,  and  it  was  at  his  head  that 
Jeanie  Geddes  flung  the  stool  when  he  began  to  read  the 
Book  of  Common  Prayer  in  the  High  Church  of  Edinburgh, 
in  July  1637. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  write — ^now,  alas !  some  five-and- 
thirty  years  ago — there  were  comparatively  few  educational 
establishments  of  high  repute  in  Scotland,  and  still  fewer  in 
England.  Among  the  few  which  then  existed  the  Academy 
of  Montrose  still  held  the  first  rank,  and  many  families  of  dis- 
tinction were  attracted  by  its  fame  to  send  their  sons  and 
daughters  from  other  lands  to  be  educated  by  its  learned  and 
accomplished  professors.  The  masters,  besides  being  the 
public  instructors  of  these  strangers,  were  also  their  private 
tutors  and  guardians,  inasmuch  as  they  all  kept  large  board- 
ing establishments,  where  their  wards  were  lodged  and  fed 
and  where  all  the  comforts  and  instructions  of  home  were 
reproduced  in  all  their  affectionate  kindness  and  love.  I  had 
the  good  fortune  to  form  one  of  the  happy  household  of  Dr 
Calvert,  the  classical  teacher,  and,  as  such,  contracted  friend- 
ships among  my  fellow-boarders  which  I  have  ever  retained 
in  after-life.  The  younger  members  of  the  afterwards  cele- 
brated Burness  family,  and  Sir  George  Balfour,  M.P.  for 
Kincardineshire,  were  class-fellows  of  the  writer  at  the  public 
classes  in  the  Academy. 


286  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LE6END& 

"  How  shall  we  spend  to-morrow's  holiday,  comrades  1  We 
have  had  so  many  raral  excursions  lately — first  to  the  North 
Water  Bridge,  then  to  the  Hill  of  Craig  and  Bossie  Castle, 
anon  to  the  rocks  of  St  Cyras  and  the  Castle  of  Kinnaird — 
that,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  am  heartily  sick  of  the  thing 
altogether.  What  say  ye,  my  boys,  to  a  boating  excursion 
to-morrow  1  I'll  teach  you  how  to  ply  the  oar  and  furl  the 
sail,  and  guide  you  safely  over  the  waves.  Hurrah  !  my  lads, 
hurrah !" 

This  little  speech  was  addressed  to  his  fellow-boarders  by 
Billy  Dickson,  on  the  evening  preceding  a  long-looked-for 
holiday,  just  as  we  had  finished  our  last  game  in  the  play- 
ground, and  were  about  retiring  for  the  night  Billy,  with 
his  brother  James,  had  come  from  the  far  east,  and  although 
his  hair  was  black  and  curly  as  a  negro's,  and  his  complexion 
even  swarthier  than  a  "  dusky  brown, "  he  had  a  sh^rp,  in- 
telligent eye,  expressive  features,  well-formed,  handsome 
limbs,  a  sympathetic,  merry  laugh,  and  a  loving  heart  withaL 
A  favourite  with  every  one,  and  particularly  so  with  his  com- 
rades at  school,  was  dear,  beloved  Billy  Dickson.  What  he 
recommended  we  as  readily  adopted;  where  he  led,  we 
obediently  followed;  when  he  commanded,  we  as  instantly 
obeyed.  In  very  truth,  by  his  winning  manners  and  consum- 
mate generalship  he  had  gradually  acquired  the  complete 
mastery  over  us;  but  he  exercised  this  vested  power  with 
such  skill,  and  grace,  and  good  brotherhood,  that  we  felt  the 
yoke  neither  irksome  nor  severe. 

At  the  conclusion  of  his  address,  a  long  and  loud  hurrah 
responded  to  his  appeal,  and  after  having  determined  on  the 
hour  of  departure,  we  bade  each  other  good-njght,  and  retired, 
ostensibly  to  rest,  but  in  reality  to  dream  of  our  voyage  on  the 
morrow. 

'^  Good  morning,  my  hearties,"  said  Billy,  as  he  met  us  at 
an  early  hour  next  morning  at  the  breakfast  table.  ''No 
chicken-hearted,  feather-bed  sailors  amongst  my  crew,  I  hope." 
Then,  approaching,  he  chucked  me  good-naturedly  under  the 


DEATH.  287 

chin,  and  archly  said,  ""What !  my  little  boatswain  first  be- 
ginning to  show  the  white  feather  ?  Cheer  up,  cheer  up,  my 
boy.  Only  think  how  these  land  sharks  will  jerk  up  their 
trousers  and  trip  up  the  shrouds  when  your  piping  cry  is  heard, 
'All  hands  aloft,  boys,  all  hands  aloft !' "  Then  giving  me  a 
hearty  slap  on  the  shoulder,  and  with  a  waggish  leer  directed 
to  the  rest  of  my  schoolmates,  he  boisterously  exclaimed, 
"  Show  them  pluck,  my  boy — show  them  pluck,  my  hearty  ! '' 

After  partaking  of  an  excellent  breakfast,  and  having  re- 
ceived the  parting  benediction  and  advice  of  our  worthy 
teacher,  we  sallied  first  along  the  High  Street  and  Bridge 
Street,  and  then  to  the  harbour,  where  we  had  little  difficulty 
in  engaging  a  small  fishing-boat  for  the  day. 

"  All  hands  on  board,*'  cried  Billy ;  and  when  seated  in  the 
little  craft,  our  amateur  crew  of  eight  looked  like  so  many 
tight,  jolly  tars  on  the  eve  of  a  long  and  perilous  voyage. 

"  Stow  the  beef  and  biscuit  in  the  locker,"  again  cried  our 
captain ;  "  and,  Tom,  you  seat  yourself  on  the  prow  and  look 
out  for  squalls.  The  rudder  I  will  guide  myself  assisted  by 
(as  he  always  called  me)  my  little  ftiend  Jim,  who  will  sit 
in  the  stem  beside  me ;  and  as  for  the  rest  of  you,  my  boys, 
bestir  yourselves  to  weigh  the  anchor  and  unfurl  the  sails,  and 
let  us  scud  before  the  gale  ere  it  lulls  itself  into  a  calm." 

In  a  few  minutes  all  was  ready,  and  our  tight  little  boat 
passed  under  the  old  wooden  bridge,  carrying  us  on  to  the 
''Backsands"  right  merrily.  It  was  a  beautiful  morning  in 
April,  the  air  crisp,  sharp,  and  exhilarating,  and  as  we  bounded 
over  the  silver  waves  we  looked  so  proud  and  so  happy — 
proud  at  our  dexterous  and  successful  seamanship,  and  happy 
at  the  prospect  of  a  long  and  merry  holiday. 

"  Steady,  boys,  steady,"  said  Billy,  as  a  heavily-laden  coal 
craft  bore  down  upon  us.  "We  must  give  her  more  way. 
There,  on  like  a  duck  in  a  mill-pond,  she  scuds  away,  and  I 
defy  that  clumsy  lugger  to  overtake  her." 

''  We  must  beware  of  the  treacherous  sandbanks,"  I  said, 
sometime  after,  looking  up  into  Billy's  face,  as  he  now  stood 


288  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  as  if  listening  to  some  distant  soand, 
and  scanning  at  the  same  time  the  changed  aspect  of  the 
heavens.  "  I  fear  these  sudden  squalls/'  said  Billy,  quietly, 
'*  much  more  than  I  do  the  changing  quicksands.  For  the 
one  we  may  be  prepared,  for  the  other  we  cannot'' 

The  wind  was  now  hushed  into  a  deceitful  calm,  the  sails 
flapped  ominously  on  the  creaking  masts,  the  sky  grew  dark 
and  troubled,  and  the  low  moan  of  the  distant  sea,  mingled 
with  the  mournful  cry  of  the  seagull,  fell  heavily  on  the  ear. 

"  Squalls  ahead  ! "  cried  Tom,  from  the  prow,  and  instantly 
all  eyes  were  directed  to  a  dark  lowering  cloud,  which  every 
moment  increased  its  threatening  aspect,  till  the  black  ripple 
on  the  water  forewarned  us  of  the  coming  tempest. 

"  Steady,  boys,  steady,"  cried  Billy.  "  Quick,  furl  the  sails, 
and  I  shall  lay  her  more  to  leeward-  The  wind  is  rising,  but 
there  is  no  danger." 

"There  is  danger,"  Billy  whispered  in  my  ear.  "When 
the  lurch  comes  cling  fast  to  me,  Jim." 

Scarcely  were  the  words  uttered  when  the  swell  of  the  water 
shook  the  timbers  of  our  little  craft,  and  the  squall  burst  in 
merciless  rage  over  her,  tearing  into  tatters  her  tiny  sails,  and 
capsizing  her  in  an  instant  into  the  trough  of  the  sea ! 

The  salt  brine  gurg^led  in  my  throat, 

Ab  stunned  I  lay  beneath  the  boat. 

But  quick  I  floated  far  away 

Amongst  the  white,  fierce  dashing  spray. 

And  faint,  like  sounds  heard  in  our  dreams, 

I  heard  some  distant  wild-like  screams ; 

Then  in  a  slumber  sweet  I  fell, 

As  mermaids  bore  me  to  their  cell ; 

Far  down  below  in  the  deep,  deep  sea, 

A  bed  of  coral  they  made  for  me. 

Oh,  fondly  and  softly  they  laid  me  down, 

Of  flowers  of  the  sea  gay  wreathing  a  crown. 

And  arraying  me  bright  with  silyer  shells, 

All  musical  sweet  like  evening  bells ; 

Then  archly  combing  their  golden  hair — 

I  never  saw  maidens  look  so  fair, 


DEATH.  289 

Their  skin  all  so  pure  and  silvery  white, 

And  their  pouting  lips  so  rosy  bright. 

And  their  eyes  so  arch  and  sparkling  blue. 

Like  violets  gemmed  vdth  the  morning  dew. 

And  their  busts  so  plump  and  rounded  fine — 

I  thought  them,  beautiful,  nay  divine  ! 

The  fishes  swam  round  and  round  my  head, 

Green  were  the  waters  above  my  head. 

And  yet  so  sparkling  and  bright  the  waves, 

I  saw  every  gem  of  the  ocean  caves. 

The  mermaids  now  listened — I  heard  a  strain 

Gome  sweetly  across  the  watery  main, 

Nor  of  earth,  nor  of  sea  it  seemed  to  be, 

So  spiritually  pure  in  its  melody  I 

Nearer,  and  nearer,  yet  sweeter  it  came. 

Till  wondering  I  heard  'mong  the  notes  my  name 

Sung  softly  and  fondly  ;  a  well-known  voice 

Filled  glad  my  rapt  soul,  and  bade  me  rejoice  ; 

And  now  o*er  my  couch  my  fond  mother  smiled. 

Surrounded  by  angels,  who'd  watched  o'er  her  child, 

And  brought  her  in  safety  and  love  to  me, 

On  my  white  coral  bed  in  the  deep,  deep  sea. 

Now  softly  and  swiftly  they  bore  me  away. 

While  the  mermaids,  dejected,  sad,  urged  me  to  stay. 

And  followed  entreating,  as  upwards  we  flew, 

More  mournful  the  nearer  to  earth  we  drew, 

Till  fondly,  yet  sadly,  they  kissed  me  each  one. 

Then  vanished,  as  now  their  good  mission  was  done  t 

I  awoke.  Where  1  On  the  lowly  bed  of  a  little  cottage,  on 
the  southern  banks  of  the  £sk,  and  attended  by  my  shivering 
and  anxious  shipmates.  The  truth  at  once  dawned  upon  me, 
and  I  essayed  to  speak;  but  for  some  time  was  unable  to 
articulate. 

At  last  I  cried — "  Where  is  Billy  Dickson  1 "  No  answer 
being  returned,  I  carefully  scrutinised  each  anxious  face  to 
read  the  truth,  if  possible,  in  each  expression,  but  not  being 
satisfied  I  rose,  and  staggered  feebly  towards  a  little  group 
who  seemed  intently  gazing  on  some  object  which,  apparently, 
deeply  interested  them. 

And  there — stretched  on  a  lowly  cguch — lay  BiDy  Dickson, 

his  garments  drenched  with  brine,  and  his  hair  dishevelled 

1 


290  STRATHMORB  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

yet  80  natural  and  life-like^  that  with  great  rapture  I  ex- 
claimed— 

''  How  happy  I  am  our  dear  Billy  is  safe." 

"He  is  safe,  I  trust,  in  one  respect/'  said  an  elderly  cottar 
beside  me ;  "  but  I  fear '* 

"  Fear  what  1"  I  interrupted  impetuously. 

"  He  is  dead,"  was  the  reply. 

"Dead  \"  I  cried.  "Dear  Billy  Dickson  dead!"  And  I 
gazed  on  his  calm  expressive  countenance,  the  sweet  smile  on 
his  lip,  and  the  dear  lustre  in  his  eye,  and  exclaimed  with 
tears  of  joy  in  my  eyes — 

"  You  mock  me — ^he  is  not  dead,"  and  I  eagerly  grasped  his 
hand  in  mine. 

It  was  damp  and  clammy  to  the  touch.  I  pressed  it  with 
greater  warmth ;  but  oh !  how  cold,  cold,  this  last  pressure, 
sending  a  withering  and  chilling  thrill  to  my  innermost  heart, 
never,  never  to  be  forgotten,  for  this  was  my  first  contact  with 
death ! 

The  details  of  the  catastrophe  are  few,  and  soon  told. 

Capsized  in  the  storm,  our  cries  were  heard  by  those  on  board 
the  coal  sloop,  which  we  were  so  anxious  to  outsail  They 
bore  down  with  all  speed  to  the  scene,  and  all  were  rescued 
from  a  watery  grava 

Poor  Billy,  however,  never  rallied,  and  by  the  time  the 
shore  was  reached  his  spirit  had  fled  to  another  and  a  happier 
sphere. 

Such  were  my  first  impressions  of  DeatL 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

KINNAIRD  CASTLE. 

Lo  !  princely  mansion,  hall  and  tower, 
Proclaim  the  spell  of  beauty's  power ; 
Here,  ancient,  modem  art  combine, 
To  raise  a  shrine  almost  divine. 

Skirting  the  basin  of  Montrose  are  the  rich  alluvial  lands  of 
Kinnaird,  and  after  a  pleasant  drive  of  an  hour,  we  enter  the 
^ates  of  Elinnaird  Castle,  the  princely  residence  of  the  Earls  of 
Southesk. 

The  lands  which  form  the  territorial  earldom  of  Southesk 
extend  from  the  basin  of  Montrose  on  the  east  to  the  western 
extremity  of  Monrommon  Moor  on  the  west,  a  distance  of 
fully  eight  miles.  The  southern  division  of  the  Kinnaird 
estates  comprehends  the  lands  of  Baldovie,  Fullerton,  Bonay- 
ton,  part  of  Carcary,  Upper  and  Lower  Fithie,  Bolsham, 
KinneU,  and  others,  comprehending  the  lands  of  Baldovie  on 
the  east,  to  the  parish  of  Kinnell  on  the  south-west  and  is  in 
length  seven  and  a  half  miles.  The  northern  division  com- 
prises the  portion  north  of  the  river  South  Esk,  and  extends 
from  Balwyllo  on  the  east  to  Brechin  on  the  west. 

The  early  history  of  the  family — according  to  Mr  Eraser  to 
whose  antiquarian  researches  I  have  in  the  composition  of 
this  chapter  been  greatly  indebted — ^is  involved  in  much 
obscurity,  owing  in  a  great  measure  to  the  destruction  of  the 
charters  and  records  of  Eannaird  by  the  burning  of  the 
mansionhouse  of  Kinnaird  after  the  battle  of  Brechin  in  the 
year  1452;  and  again  suffering  from  the  confusion  of  the 
times,  having  been  dispersed  on  the  forfeiture  of  the  fifth  Earl 


292  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

in  1715,  when  the  family  papers  were  taken  possession  of  by 
the  Commissioners  on  the  forfeited  estate  of  Southesk. 

m 

Sufficient  evidence,  however,  has  been  preserved  in  a  Char- 
ter by  King  David  II. — ^without  date,  but  probably  granted  in 
1358 — confirming  a  donation  made  by  the  then  deceased 
Walter  Maule,  to  John  de  Balinhard — ^afterwards  de  Carnegie 
— of  the  lands  of  Carnegie,  to  prove  that  four  generations  of 
the  feunily  bore  the  surname  of  Balinhard.  In  the  county  of 
Forfieu',  there  are  at  least  three  places  of  the  name  of  Balin- 
hard ;  one  of  these  is  Balinhard,  or  Bonhard,  in  the  parish  of 
Arbirlot,  another  forms  part  of  the  estate  of  Clova,  and  the 
third,  known  as  Bonhard,  lies  in  Edzell  parish. 

The  lands  of  Carnegie  from  the  time  of  their  being  first 
acquired  by  John  de  Balinhard,  the  ancestor  of  the  Camegies^ 
in  the  year  1358,  continued  to  form  part  of  the  possessions  of 
the  family,  either  in  the  direct  or  collateral  lines,  till  they  were 
forfeited  in  the  year  1716.  The  direct  male  line  of  the  Came- 
gies  of  Carnegie,  failed  about  the  year  1530,  when  the  lands 
l>ecame  the  property  of  a  collateral  branch.  On  the  failure  of 
that  branch  about  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  the  lands 
again  reverted  to  the  Camegies  of  Kinnaird,  then  the  main 
line. 

Three  years  after  the  restoration  of  Charles  IL,  James,  the 
second  Earl  of  Southesk,  obtained  from  His  Majesty  a  Charter 
dated  3d  August  1663,  by  which  the  lands  of  Carnegie  and 
many  other  lands  were  erected  into  a  free  barony,  to  be  called 
the  barony  of  Carnegie  in  all  time  coming. 

After  the  lands  of  Carnegie  were  forfeited  in  1716,  they  re- 
mained for  a  considerable  number  of  years  in  other  hands,  but 
in  the  year  1763,  they  were  purchased  by  Sir  James  Carnegie 
of  Pittarrow,  the  heir  male  of  the  family.  He,  however, 
retained  them  only  for  a  very  short  time,  having  almost  imme- 
diately exchanged  them  with  the  Earl  of  Panmure  for  other 
lands  adjacent  to  the  principal  residence  of  ELinnaird. 

Duthac  of  Carnegie,  second  son  of  John  de  Carnegie,  who 
held  the  lands  of  Carnegie,  was  the  first  of  that  family  wha 


KINNAIRD  CASTLE.  293 

possessed  Kinnaird  and  Carcary.  In  the  year  1401  he  ac- 
quired a  small  portion  of  the  lands  of  Kinnaird ;  and  in  the 
year  1409,  the  half  of  the  same  lands  which  belonged  to 
Mariota  of  Kinnaird.  The  lands  of  Kinnaird  and  Little  Car- 
cary were  first  erected  into  the  barony  of  Kinnaird  by  King 
James  V.  who,  by  a  Charter  under  the  Great  Seal,  dated  17th 
July  1542,  granted  to  Eobert  Carnegie  of  Kinnaird,  on  his 
own  resignation,  the  lands  of  Kinnaird  and  Little  Carcary, 
with  the  Manor  of  Eannaird  and  all  privileges  pertaining 
thereto.  The  reddendo  is  a  silver  penny  to  be  paid  upon  the 
said  lands  of  Kinnaird,  yearly  if  asked,  and  also  the  keeping  of 
the  king's  ale  cellar  within  the  shire  of  Forfar,  when  he  should 
happen  to  reside  there,  the  grantee  and  his  heirs  being  law- 
fully warned. 

In  consequence  of  several  extensive  additions  to  the  Kin- 
naird barony,  a  new  erection  of  the  barony  was  made  by 
Queen  Mary  by  a  Charter  under  the  Great  Seal,  dated  25th 
March  1565.  The  reddendo  is  the  same  as  in  the  previous 
Charter  of  erection  by  King  James  V. 

Another,  and  third  erection  of  the  barony  of  Kinnaird  was 
made  by  King  James  VI.  by  a  Charter  under  the  Great  Seal, 
dated  14th  October  1591. 

On  the  resignation  of  James,  second  Earl  of  Southesk,  the 
barony  of  Kinnaird,  and  many  other  baronies  and  lands 
which  had  been  acquired  by  him,  were  by  a  Charter  granted 
by  King  Charles  11.  in  favour  of  Eobert  Lord  Carnegie,  and 
Lady  Anna  Hamilton,  his  spouse,  dated  8th  March  1667, 
erected  and  incorporated  into  one  whole  and  free  Earldom  of 
and  Lordship  to  be  called  the  Earldom  of  Southesk, 
and  Lordship  of  Carnegie  in  all  time  coming ;  the  tower, 
fortalice,  and  manor  place  of  Kinnaird  were  declared  to 
be  the  principal  messuage  ;  and  one  sasine  to  be  taken  there- 
at was  to  be  sufficient  infeftment  for  the  whole  earldom  and 
lordship.  The  reddendo  consisted  of  certain  payments  speci- 
fied for  the  several  lands,  the  keeping  of  the  King's  ale-cellar 
being  omitted  apparently  for  the  first  time. 


294      STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Since  the  acquisition  of  the  lands  of  Einnaird  by  the 
Carnegie    family,  the    Castle  of  Kinnaird  has  been  their 
principal  residence.    The  House  of  Einnaird  is  first  men- 
tioned  in  1409,  in  a  charter  in  which  Dathac  Carnegie  ob- 
tains a  grant  and  confirmation  of  half  of  the  town  of  Kinnaird, 
upon  the  resignation  thereof  in  his  fEtvoar  by  Mariota  de 
Kinnaird,  supposed  to  have  married  him,  who,  in  resigning 
it,  reserves  to  herself  a  house  called  the  Chemyse,  with  an 
adjoining  acre  of  land.     After  the  battle  of  Brechin  in  1452, 
this  house  was  burned  to  the  ground  by  the  Earl  of  Crawford 
in  revenge  for  the  part  which  Walter  de  Carnegie,  son  of 
Duthac  de  Carnegie,  and  the  then  proprietor  of  Eannaird, 
took  in  fighting  in  support  of  the  standard  of  his  Sovereign, 
King  James  11.,  in  that  sanguinary  engagement.     A  new 
house  was  built,  it  is  conjectured,  by  Walter  de  Carnegie. 
This    house  which    succeeded    the    old  tower,  burned  by 
Crawford,  was    placed  by  Walter    de  Carnegie  upon  the 
present  site,  parts  of  the  existing  building  giving  evidence, 
by  extreme  thickness  of  wall,  and  other  peculiarities,  of  an 
antiquity  too  considerable  to  be  referred  to  any  much  later 
period.    This  is  all  that  can  now  be  ascertained  regarding 
the  erection  of  the  earlier  house  of  Kinnaird.    It  is  referred 
to  in  the  testimonial  of  Sasine,  dated  in  1479,  in  favour  of 
John  Carnegie  the  third  laird  of  Kinnaird,  who  was  the  son 
of  Walter  de  Carnegie. 

The  Mansion-house  of  Kinnaird  remained,  it  is  probable, 
without  any  material  alteration  till  the  time  of  Sir  Robert 
Carnegie,  fifth  laird,  who  greatly  added  to  its  size  as  appears 
from  the  contract  between  him  and  the  builders,  John 
Hutoun  and  William  Welsche,  dated  at  Kinnaird,  7th 
November  1555,  a  short  time  before  he  had  received  the 
honour  of  Knighthood  which  is  still  preserved. 

David,  first  Earl  of  Southesk,  the  grandson  of  Sir  Eobert 
Carnegie,  is  understood  to  have  considerably  enlarged  the 
Castle.  In  the  time  of  Sobert  the  third  Earl,  it  is  described 
by  John  Ochterlony  of  Gwynd  in  his  account  of  the  Shire  of 


KINNAIRD  CASTLE.  295 

Forfar  written  about  the  year  1685,  as  "a  great  house 
having  excellent  gardens,  parks  with  fallow  deer,  orchards, 
hay  meadows,  wherein  are  eztraordinare  quantities  of  hay, 
very  much  planting,  ane  excellent  breed  of  horse,  cattle,  and 
sheep,  extraordinare  good  land :  without  competition  the 
finest  place  taken  altogether  in  the  shire."  Ochterlony  adds 
that  the  family  had  been  honoured  by  having  his  Majesty 
Charles  II.,  his  father  Charles  I.,  and  his  grandGftther  James 
VI.,  at  their  house  of  Kinnaird. 

For  several  generations  after  the  time  of  the  first  Earl  of 
Southesk,  the  family  dwelling-place  would  seem  to  have 
satisfied  its  possessors.  Charles  the  fourth  Earl,  however, 
after  devoting  himself  to  planting  and  improving  the  grounds 
of  Kinnaird,  determined  to  enlarge  and  renovate  the  mansion 
also.  Earl  Charles'  death  in  course  of  the  next  year,  the 
long  minority  which  followed,  the  troublous  times  of  the  '16, 
the  forfeiture  of  the  estate,  and  the  exile  and  attainder  of 
James,  fifth  Earl,  precluded  the  execution  of  the  plans  of  1698. 

In  1763,  Sir  James  Carnegie  purchased  the  Southesk 
estates,  but  he  had  not  completed  his  possession  to  them 
when  he  died.  Sir  David,  his  son,  a  man  of  refined  tastes, 
matured  by  study  and  travel,  found  himself  more  happily 
situated  as  to  means  and  leisure.  In  1779,  fourteen  years 
after  he  had  inherited  Kinnaird,  but  when  still  a  minor,  he 
refers  to  the  family  residence  in  one  of  his  poetical  addresses 
to  a  relative,  as — 


n 


The  uncouth  mansion  of  this  ancient  place.' 


Dissatisfied  with  the  somewhat  dilapidated  ancestral  house, 
he  began  about  1790,  under  the  auspices  of  Mr  Playfair, 
extensive  alterations  which  completely  changed  its  aspect, 
and  greatly  increased  its  size,  making  it  perhaps  the  largest 
mansion-house  in  the  county. 

For  fully  half  a  century  the  castle  remained  unchanged, 
with  the  exception  of  small  and  unimportant  additions ;  but 
a  few  years  after  the  accession  of  the  present  Earl,  it  was 


*  -  -  •      J -- . 


296  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGEND& 

destined  to  undergo  an  entire  transformation.  Great  altera- 
tions on  the  park  and  grounds  had,  for  some  time,  been  in 
progress ;  when  his  Lordship,  desirous  in  all  respects  to  im- 
prove the  ancient  home  of  his  family,  resolved  that  the  house 
itself  should  be  thoroughly  renovated  and  re-modelled  both 
within  and  without.  Plans  were  obtained  from  Mr  Bryce  of 
Edinburgh ;  a  beginning  was  made  in  1854,  and  the  work, 
carried  on  more  or  less  vigorously  during  the  intervening 
years,  was  brought  to  its  completion  in  1862. 

The  Castle,  as  it  now  stands,  forms  a  nearly  perfect  square ; 
and  very  much  presents  the  appearance  of  a  French  chateau 
of  the  olden  time  j — with  its  massive  towers  capped  by  steep 
and  lofty  roofs  crowned  with  gilt  stars  and  pennoned  vanes ; 
its  long  stretch  of  balustraded  balconies  and  terrace  walls ;  its 
many  windows — ^mullioned  and  plain,  dormer,  lay,  and  oriel ; 
its  quaintly  carved  coats  of  arms,  blazoning  the  alliances  of 
its  owners  since  the  days  of  Duthac  and  Mariota ;  a  French 
Chateau,  in  short,  in  its  irregularity  within  bounds,  in  its 
flexible  formality,  in  its  mixture  of  Mediaeval  Gothic  with 
Italian  outlines  and  classical  detail,  in  its  rich  decoration,  and 
especially  in  its  prodigal  display  of  roof,  a  feature  so  carefully 
concealed  in  the  English  Tudor  style. 

The  west  and  principal  front  is  208  feet  long  from  point  to 
point,  including  the  square  flanking  towers,  which  are  connected 
by  an  open  stone-work  balcony,  where  a  double  flight  of  steps 
leads  to  the  terrace  gardens.  In  the  centre  is  another  tower  of 
rather  larger  size,  and  90  feet  in  height  to  the  level  of  its  roof 
platform,  above  which  rises  a  round  turret,  surmounted  by  a 
vane,  the  top  of  which  is  115  feet  above  the  ground.  The 
most  conspicuous  part  of  the  south  front  is,  with  its  flanking 
towers,  100  feet  long ;  the  Conservatory,  a  tower,  lower  and 
wider  than  the  rest,  and  part  of  the  offices,  complete  the 
square,  which  is  thus  exactly  200  feet  in  length.  The  length 
of  the  north  front  is  the  same,  as  is  also  its  general  arrange- 
ment ;  but  between  flanking  towers  is  the  principal  entrana*, 
protected  by  a  columned  porte-cochere  of  elaborate  design. 


KINNAIRD  CASTLE.  297 

while,  instead  of  the  conservatory  and  third  tower,  a  three 
storied  wing  forms  the  connecting  link  with  the  lower  range 
of  offices.  The  east  front,  also  of  an  ornamental  character,  is 
considerably  inferior  in  height  to  the  rest  of  the  building ;  it 
is  mostly  devoted  to  stables  and  offices,  and  forms  one  side  of 
an  open  court,  which  occupies  the  central  portion  of  the  great 
square.  The  roofs  are  covered  with  Westmoreland  slates  of 
a  greenish  tone,  and  along  their  ridges  run  iron  railings  of  rich 
tracery.  The  four  fronts  of  the  house  are  entirely  built  in 
dressed  square  ruble-work,  and  of  a  pale  pink  brown  freestone 
quarried  on  the  estate. 

Entering  from  the  north,  the  visitor  after  passing  through 
a  small  outer  hall,  finds  himself  in  a  low  gallery  about  80  feet 
in  length  fitted  with  oak  and  adorned  with  the  spoils  of  the 
chase.  Towards  the  end  of  the  g'allery  he  ascends  by  a  ballus- 
traded  staircase  to  the  first  floor,  and  arrives  at  a  corridor  95 
feet  long,  and  18  high,  which,  like  the  gallery  beneath,  is 
painted  of  a  dulled  vermilion,  a  shade  brighter  than  the  well- 
known  Pompeian  hua  Opening  on  this  corridor,  is  the 
principal  suit  of  rooms :  the  dining-room  36  feet  by  26 ;  the 
drawing-rooms  24  and  30  feet  by  24,  pannelled  in  white,  blue, 
and  gold, — all  these  18  feet  high ;  and  the  library,  fitted  in 
oak,  44  by  25,  and  30  in  height  In  the  dining-room  hang 
most  of  the  family  portraits.  In  the  drawing-rooms  and  other 
parts  of  the  house,  are  some  valuable  pictures,  chiefly  Italian 
and  Dutch,  and  in  the  library,  the  corridor,  and  Lord  Southesk's 
sitting-room,  is  a  collection  of  8000  volumes,  many  of  which 
are  rare  and  of  great  value. 

The  remainder  of  the  west  rooms  on  this  floor,  and  all  those 
to  the  north,  are  occupied  by  the  family  apartments,  and  the 
nurseries,  but  at  the  end  of  Uie  corridor  facing  the  south,  is  a 
bed-room  which  formed  part  of  the  old  house,  and  which  was 
certainly  slept  in  by  the  Chevalier  in  1715,  and  probably  by 
King  James  VI.  and  the  two  Kings  Charles,  on  the  occasion 
of  their  recorded  visits  to  Kinnaird. 

The  second  floor  consists  entirely  of  bed-rooms ;  the  ground 


298  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

floor  comprises  offices  and  cellars,  the  hall  and  gallery 
already  mentioned,  a  large  billiard-room  in  the  centre  of  the 
west  front,  taking  the  place  of  the  former  entrance  hall,  also 
a  smoking-room  looking  southwards,  near  which  a  door  open- 
ing on  the  terrace  cuts  through  part  of  the  wall  of  the  oldest 
house,  and  displays  its  remarkable  thickness. 

Kinnaird  Castle  is  situated  some  fifty  feet  above  the  adja- 
cent valley,  at  the  extreme  end  of  a  gravel  plateau  of  consider- 
able size,  whose  steep  banks  have  evidently  formed  part  of  the 
coast  line  in  times  of  remote  antiquity.  Before  the  woods 
which  now  conceal  the  shape  of  the  country  were  called  into 
being,  the  appearance  of  the  old  fort  must  have  well  justified 
its  name — Ceann-airde — ^the  head  of  the  height,  (or  the 
higher  head, — ^the  headland)  an  appellation  which  it  shares  with 
several  similarly  situated  places  in  other  parts  of  Scotland. 

Let  us  now  ascend  to  the  platform  of  the  central  tower  and 
gaae  with  delight  on  the  wide  and  varied  expanse  of  land  and 
sea  which  on  either  hand  meets  our  admiring  view.  To  the 
south,  indeed,  the  eye  is  stopped  by  the  unbroken  slopes  of 
Garcary  and  Bonnyton  range,  one  extremity  of  which  is  lost 
in  the  sea  beyond  the  tower  of  Craig,  while  the  other  termin- 
ates in  the  wooded  hill  of  Bolshan. 

On  the  north,  however,  the  Grampian  mountains  form  a 
more  distant  and  nobler  back-ground,  and  towards  the  front 
of  the  intervening  undulations,  you  observe  the  City  of 
Brechin  comes  into  sight.  A  screen  of  trees  between,  however, 
completely  hides  from  the  view  the  hoary  spires  of  the  cathe- 
dral, and  mysterious  round  tower,  which  would  have  added  so 
much  historical  and  general  interest  to  the  beautiful  landscape. 

Stretching  westwards,  you  descry  the  immense  woods  of 
Monrommon  Moor,  once  a  barren,  heath-covered  plain.  Its 
flat  and  monotonous  outline,  you  observe,  is  picturesquely 
broken  in  the  distance  by  the  rocky  heights  of  Turin,  and 
the  more  rounded  eminences  of  Guthrie,  Dunnichen,  and  Lour. 

To  the  east  from  the  foot  of  the  Castle  bank^  extends  a 
rich  and  level  vale,  along  which,  on  the  northern  side,  the 


KINNAIRD  CASTLE.  299 

river  South  Esk  finds  its  way  to  the  tidal  lake  commonly 
called  the  Basin;  and  bounding  this  estuary  on  the  long 
promontory  which  shuts  out  the  German  Ocean,  stands  the 
ancient  City  of  Montrose,  with  its  lofty  well-proportioned 
steeple  rising  clear  against  the  open  sky.  And  far  away  on 
ocean's  hazy  verge  your  eye  rests  in  dreamy  repose  on  the 
calm,  unruffled  surface  of  the  great  Northern  Sea,  tracing  as 
you  gaze,  the  indistinct  outlines  of  many  a  gallant  ship,  as 
with  white  expanded  sails,  they  gradually  disappear  below 
the  mystical  line  of  the  distant  horizon. 

Immediately  before  the  west  and  principal  front  of  the 
Castle,  lies  the  deer  park  stretching  in  one  level  sweep  to 
woods  which  combine  with  those  of  Monrommon  Moor.  At 
this  part  the  deer  park  is  a  mile  across,  but  it  does  not  main- 
tain an  equal  width  in  its  whole  north  and  south  length  of 
more  than  two  miles.  Within  its  area  are  contained  800 
acres,  comprising  every  variety  of  soil,  from  the  warm  gravel 
of  the  principal  plateau  on  which  the  castle  stands,  to  the 
cold  clay  of  Tilly-soil  and  the  whinny  moors  of  the  higher 
ground  near  the  North  Lodge. 

Large  woods  of  varying  age  and  growth,  and  many  young 
plantations  shelter  herds  of  red  and  fallow  deer,  in  number 
generaUy  limited  to  from  50  to  70  for  the  former,  and  from 
400  to  500  for  the  latter,  which,  it  may  be  noticed,  are  the 
direct  descendants  of  those  mentioned  by  Ochterlony  in  his 
account  of  the  Castle  already  quoted. 

The  armorial  bearing  of  the  Camegies  of  Southesk  is  an 
eagle  with  expanded  wings,  azure,  armed,  beaked,  and 
membered. 

The  Camegies  of  Southesk  are  not  only  famous  as  the 
inheritors  of  a  very  ancient  name,  but  are  equally  distin- 
guished by  their  brilliant  talents  and  literary  acquirements. 
Sir  Robert  Carnegie  adopted,  from  choice,  the  law  as  a  pro- 
fession, and  prosecuted  it  successfully  while  the  Earl  of 
Arran  was  Begent  of  Scotland,  during  the  minority  of  Queen 
Mary.    He  displayed  abilities  and  a  capacity  for  the  trans- 


300  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

action  of  public  business  so  eminent,  that  the  regent  "was 
induced  not  only  to  promote  him  in  his  profession,  but  also 
to  employ  him  in  various  important  embassies  to  France  and 
England.  Arran,  indeed,  consulted  Sir  Eobert  and  relied  on 
his  advice  and  assistance,  during  a  great  part  of  his  regency. 
He  made  him  a  senator  of  the  College  of  Justice  on  the  4th 
July  1547.  He  was  about  the  same  time  made  one  of  the 
Privy  Councillors  of  the  Eegent. 

Sir  Eobert  was  afterwards  employed  on  several  important 
missions.  In  1548  the  regent  sent  the  laird  of  Kinnaird  as 
his  special  ambassador  to  England  to  treat  for  the  ransom  of 
George,  Earl  of  Huntly,  Chancellor  of  Scotland,  who  had  been 
taken  prisoner  at  the  battle  of  Pinkie  in  the  previous  year, 
in  which  mission  he  was  eminently  successful.  He  was  also 
employed  as  one  of  the  Commissioners  on  the  part  of  Scotland 
for  arranging  the  treaty  of  peace  with  England,  which  was 
concluded  at  Norham-on-Tweed,  on  10th  June*  1551 ;  and 
on  his  passing  through  England  to  France,  the  regent  wrote 
to  Edward  YL  for  letters  of  confirmation  of  the  treaty  under 
the  Great  Seal,  stating  that  Sir  Robert  Carnegie  was  fully 
instructed  in  the  views  of  the  regent,  and  asking  Edward  to 
give  him  the  same  credit  as  he  would  have  done  to  the  regent 
himself. 

Sir  Bobert  Carnegie  retained  the  confidence  of  the  Duke 
of  Chatelherault  as  long  as  he  held  the  office  of  regent ;  and 
there  is  reason  to  believe  that  he  retained  it  to  the  last.  It 
was  about  this  time  he  received  the  honour  of  Knighthood, 
very  probably  on  the  assumption  of  power  by  the  new  regent, 
with  whom  he  was  so  soon  in  high  favour.  Sir  Robert  who 
had  enjoyed  the  confidence  of  the  regent  and  of  his  successor, 
Mary  of  Guise,  enjoyed  in  like  manner  the  confidence  of 
Queen  Mary  when  she  took  the  reins  of  power  into  her  own 
hands.  He  had  the  care  of  the  Great  Seal  while  the  Earl  of 
Huntly,  then  Chancellor,  was  abroad ;  and  was  also  Collector- 
General  of  the  Temporal  Taxation  during  the  regency  of 
Mary,  Queen    Dowager.    Notwithstanding    the     numerous 


KINNAIRD  CASTLE.  30 1 

important  oflfices  he  held,  he  found  leisure  to  write  a  work 
on  the  law  of  Scotland,  which  is  quoted  by  Sir  James 
Balfour  in  his  Pradicks  of  the  Ancient  Law  of  Scotland.  Sir 
Robert  married,  in  the  year  1527,  Margaret,  daughter  of 
Guthrie  of  Lunan.  Of  this  marriage  there  were  eight  sons 
and  eight  daughters. 

Mr  David  Carnegie  of  Golluthie  and  Kinnaird,  who  was  also 
bred  to  the  law,  took  a  prominent  part  in  the  civil  business 
of  Scotland,  and  was  appointed  on  many  commissions  by 
King  James  VI.  The  public  services  of  David  Carnegie  are 
specially  referred  to  on  the  occasion  of  his  eldest  son's 
elevation  to  the  peerage,  first  as  Lord  Carnegie,  and  after- 
wards as  Earl  of  Southesk. 

David,  first  earl  of  Southesk,  inherited  the  talents  of  his 
father,  and  grandfather  for  public  business,  and  like  them 
passed  a  long  and  active  life  in  the  service  of  his  country. 
Lord  Carnegie  was  soon  after  appointed  an  Extraordinary  Lord 
of  Session  and  took  his  seat  on  the  bench  on  the  5th  of  July 
9616.  He  continued  to  occupy  the  place  of  an  Eictraordinaiy 
Lord  of  Session  till  the  death  of  King  James  VI.  in  1625. 
He  was  also  admitted  a  Privy  Councillor  in  the  month  of 
February  1617. 

When  King  James  left  Scotland  to  assume  the  English 
crown,  he  promised  to  revisit  his  native  kingdom  once  in  every 
three  years ;  but  he  did  not  return  to  Scotland  till  the  year 
1617,  when  he  declared  that  he  felt "  a  salmon-like,  instinct "  to 
revisit  his  native  kingdom.  Amongst  the  houses  which  were 
honoured  by  his  presence  was  Kinnaird,  the  residence  of 
Lord  Carnegie  in  Angus. 

Like  his  father,  James,  second  Earl  of  Southesk,  took  an 
active  part  in  the  civil  and  religious  controversies,  which  then 
occupied  the  attention  of  the  country.  He  was  chosen  Com- 
missioner by  the  Presbytery  of  Brechin  to  the  famous  Glajs- 
gow  Assembly  of  1638 ;  and  in  the  following  year  was  more 
active  in  assisting  his  brother-in-law,  Montrose,  and  his  cove- 
nanting friends.     He  became  a  commander  in  Montrose's 


202  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

army  on  his  first  expedition  to  the  north  to  enforce  the 
adoption  of  the  covenant  by  all  recusants. 

Shortly  after  his  Lordship  had  become  Earl  of  Southesk,  an 
unhappy  accident  occurred  which  caused  the  death  of  his 
intimate  Mend  the  Master  of  Gray.  Lord  Southesk  and  the 
Master  of  Gray,  were  both  expert  swordsmen.  After  a  con- 
vivial meeting  near  London  in  the  end  of  August  1660, 
whilst  they  were  fencing  with  their  swords,  with  no  intention 
to  injure  each  other,  the  Earl  of  Southesk  had  the  misfortune 
to  inflict  on  his  friend  a  mortal  wound  of  which  he  soon  died. 

Tradition  saith  that  the  fame  of  the  Earl  of  Southesk  as  an 
expert  swordsman  was  attributed  to  the  gift  of  supernatural 
power.  He  is  said  to  have  studied  the  Black  Art  at  Padua,  a 
place  once  famed  for  its  seminaries  of  magic.  The  devil  him- 
self was  the  instructor,  and  he  annually  claimed  as  the  reward 
of  his  tuition,  the  person  of  a  pupil  at  dismissing  the  class. 
To  give  all  a  fair  chance  of  escape,  he  ranged  the  class  in  a 
line  within  the  school,  and  on  a  given  signal,  all  rushed  to  the 
door,  the  devoted  victim  being  he  who  was  last  in  getting  out 
On  one  of  these  occasions  Sir  James  Carnegie  was  the  last, 
but  having  invoked  the  devil  to  take  his  shadow  which  was 
the  object  last  behind,  instead  of  himself,  the  devil  caught  by 
the  ruse  seized  the  shadow  in  place  of  the  substance.  It  was 
afterwards  remarked  that  Sir  James  never  had  a  shadow,  and 
that,  to  hide  this  defect,  he  usually  walked  in  the  shade. 

There  is  also  a  tradition  that  at  Earl  James'  death,  the 
devil  carried  him  away  in  a  coach  and  six  and  plunged  with 
him  into  a  well  near  the  family  bur3ring-ground.  The  adjoin- 
ing valley  is  universally  known  as  the  "  Deil*s  Den,'*  and  it  is 
said  that  on  stormy  nights  the  Earl  sometimes  drives  past  his 
former  home  in  the  equipage  provided  for  him  by  his  Satanic 
Majesty ! 

James,  fifth  Earl  of  Southesk,  is  supposed  to  have  been  the 
brave  Carnegie  who  is  the  hero  of  the  popular  song — "  The 
Piper  o*  Dundee."    The  subject  of  the  song  appears  to  have 


1 

V 

i 


KINNAIRD  CASTLE.  303 

been  the  proceedings  of  a  private  meeting  held  at  Dundee  for 
the  purpose  of  favouring  the  Jacobite  cause. 

"  There  was  Tullibardine  and  Burleigh, 
And  Stnian,  Keith,  and  Ogilyie, 
And  brave  Carnegie,  wha  but  he, 
The  piper  o*  Dundee." 

Sir  David  Carnegie,  grandfather  of  the  present  £arl  of 
Southesk,  was  educated  successively-  at  Eton,  St  Andrews, 
and  Christ  Church,  Oxford.  He  very  early  gave  promising 
indications  of  literary  talent  and  poetic  genius.  In  the  year 
1773,  when  Lord  North  was  installed  as  Chancellor  of  the 
University  of  Oxford,  Sir  David,  indulging  the  inspiration  of 
his  muse,  wrote  some  really  fine  stanzas  in  commemoration  of 
that  event,  which  are  carefully  preserved  in  the  archives 
of  Kinnaird  Castle. 

In  March  next  year  (1774)  Sir  David  read  an  Essay  or 
Declamation  on  "  A  Comparison  of  the  Athenian  and  Spartan 
Constitutions,"  in  the  Hall  of  Christ  Church  College.  Tlie 
subject  proposed  was — "  Whether  the  Athenian  or  Spartan 
Constitution  was  the  most  excellent ; "  and  Lord  Lewisham  to 
whom  the  option  was  given,  having  chosen  to  support  the 
latter,  it  fell  to  Sir  David  to  defend  that  of  Athens. 

At  intervals  Sir  David  continued  to  cultivate  the  muses.  In 
1777,  he  composed,  and  sent  to  MIbs  Doig  an  elegant  poem, 
as  an  apology  for  his  long  silence.  Again,  he  presented  a 
poetic  welcome  to  a  relative  on  her  arrival  at  Kinnaird,  in 
1 779,  commencing  thus : — 


tt 


Since  with  your  presence  you  have  deigned  to  grace 
The  uncouth  mansion  of  this  ancient  place, 
Accept  our  thanks,  0  Anna !  and  receive 
The  heartiest  welcome  that  your  host  can  give. 

"  Long  from  your  coiintry  and  your  friends  remov'd. 
From  those  who  loved  you,  and  from  those  you  loved, 
You  came  at  length  to  dry  alBiction's  tear. 
And  make  it  lighter  by  the  share  you  bear. 
Though  pleased  that  ought  could  move  you  to  return, 
We  praise  the  motive,  while  the  cause  we  mourn." 


304  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Sir  David  took  an  active  part  in  the  management  of  the 
affairs  of  the  large  and  important  county  in  which  his  estates 
were  situated,  and  he  was  looked  up  to  as  a  leader  in  political 
and  other  matters  connected  with  the  district  where  he 
resided.  At  the  general  election  in  1784,  he  was  elected 
Member  of  Parliament  for  the  group  of  Burghs  consisting  of 
Montrose,  Brechin,  Aberdeen,  Bervie  and  Arbroath.  *  Again, 
at  the  general  election  in  1796,  Sir  David  was  elected  member 
for  the  county  of  Forfar.  Sir  David  continued  to  represent 
Forfarshire  till  his  death,  which  took  place  in  1805. 

Sir  David,  however,  was  not  the  only  poet  of  his  race,  for 
we  find  that  Mrs  Carnegie  of  Pittarrow  and  Charlton,  was 
largely  embued  with  an  ardent  love  of  the  muses.  In  Septem- 
ber 1761,  when  she  was  only  seventeen  years  of  age,  she  com- 
posed  a  poem  entitled  « A  Vision,"  in  which  some  really 
fine  thoughts  occur.     The  poem  commences  thus : — 

"  Methought,  I  most  devoutly  pray'd 
To  great  Apollo  for  his  aid. 
And  that  he'd  give  me — (nothing  less) 
A  muse  to  be  my  governess : 
When  on  a  doud  of  purple  dye 
A  nymph  came  swiftly  from  on  high, 
And  stopt  before  my  wondering  eye ; 
Perpetual  smiles  adorned  her  face, 
And  heightened  every  youthful  grace." 

Our  fair  poetess  wrote  several  other  poems,  entitled  "  On 
Light "— "  On  the  Approach  of  Winter  "— "  Donottar  Castle '' 
&c.,  all  of  which  exhibit  an  ardent  love  of  Nature,  and  consid- 
erable fire  of  poetic  genius. 

At  the  early  age  of  six  years,  Sir  James  Carnegie  succeeded 
his  father.  Sir  David,  having  been  bom  at  Einnaird  on  the 
28th  of  September  1799.  After  his  education  had  been  com- 
pleted, Sir  James,  in  the  autumn  of  the  year  1818,  made  a 
tour  through  parts  of  France,  G^rmanyj  and  Italy ;  and  in  the 
following  year,  he  revisited  these  countries.  During  the  year 
1820,  he  travelled  in  Spain  and  Holland.  And  in  the  spring 
of  the  year  1824,  he  made  another  tour  through  parts  of 
France  and  Italy. 


KINNAIRD  CASTLB.  306 

Sir  James  kept  jonmals  of  all  his  travels^  a  part  of  which  is 
preseryed  at  Rinnaird.  He  also  took  a  warm  interest  in 
the  spiritual  welfare  of  the  people  of  his  district  In  1834 
he  corresponded  with  Dr  Chahners  on  the  subject  of  free 
sittings  in  churches  and  other  matters  connected  with  the 
extension  and  additional  endowment  of  the  church  of  Scot- 
land. 

Sir  James  Carnegie  for  sometime  took  an  active  part  in 
those  political  questions  which  frequently  agitated  the  country 
in  his  day.  Like  his  father,  Sir  David,  he  became  the 
representative  of  the  Montrose  district  of  Burghs  in  the 
Parliament  of  the  United  EJngdom.  He  was  elected  at  the 
general  election  in  1830,  and  continued  to  represent  these 
burghs  till  the  dissolution  of  that  Parliament.  For  many 
years  before  his  death,  he  withdrew  from  taking  an  active 
part  in  public  affairs,  and  lived  retired  with  his  family  at 
Kinnaird. 

James,  sixth  and  present  Earl  of  Southesk,  (and  but  for  the 
attainder,  ninth  Earl)  was  bom  at  Edinburgh  on  the  16th  of 
November,  1827.  He  received  the  earlier  part  of  his  educa- 
tion at  the  Edinbui^h  Academy,  and  in  1841,  became  a  cadet 
at  the  Boyal  Military  College  at  Sandhurst,  where  he  passed 
examinations  which  entitled  him  to  a  commission  without  pur- 
chase. In  1845,  he  was  gazetted  to  an  ensigncy  in  the  92d 
Highlanders;  and  on  23d  January  1846,  he  obtaLued  a 
commission  in  the  Grenadier  Ouards,  in  which  he  remained 
for  three  years. 

On  the  death  of  Sir  Thomas  Burnett  of  Leys,  Lord  Lieu- 
tenant of  Kincardineshire,  in  1849,  the  Earl,  then  Sir  James 
Carnegie,  was  nominated  to  that  office  by  the  crown,  and  he 
continued  to  hold  it  until  shortly  after  the  disposal  of  his 
estate  of  Strachan  in  that  county  in  1856,  when  he  deemed 
it  his  duty  to  resign  the  Lord  Lieutenancy. 

It  being  the  great  ambition  of  his  life  to  see  his  family  re- 
instated in  their  ancient  family  honours.  Sir  James  Carnegie 
in  the  year  1853,  renewed  the  claim  originally  made  by  his 

u 


306  SIBAamiORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

fiither  and  grandfather  to  the  tides  of  £arl  of  Southesk  and 
Lord  Carnegie.  At  the  final  meeting  of  the  Committee  of 
Priyileges  held  on  the  24th  July  1855  after  the  Act  of  Besti- 
tntion  had  heen  passed,  the  Attomej-General  (Cockbnm)  on 
the  part  of  the  Crown,  stated  that  he  agreed  in  the  opinion 
expressed  by  the  Lord  Advocate  on  a  former  occasion,  that 
the  pedigree  had  been  satisfactorily  proved;  and  ihe 
Committee  of  Privil^es  resolved  that  the  claim  to  the  titles 
of  Earl  of  Southesk  and  Lord  Cam^e  of  Kinnaird  and 
Lenchars  had  been  established.  Lord  Southesk  was  after- 
wards placed  on  the  roll  of  Peers  in  Scothmd,  with  the  same  \ 
precedency  as  if  no  forfeiture  had  taken  place,  and  his  j 
brothers  and  sisters  received  a  grant  of  precedency  in  the 
same  rank  as  the  children  of  an  earL 

Jn  the  year  1850-1,  and  again  in  1864-5,  Lord  Southesk 
passed  the  winter  in  France  and  Italy.  Li  1859,  he  travelled 
in  North  America  visiting  parts  of  Canada,  and  of  the 
United  States;  and  proceeding  by  the  Minnesota  route  to 
Fort  Gkury  in  the  Ked  River  Settlement.  Thence  he  set  out 
on  a  hunting  expedition,  crossed  the  prairies  to  the  Bocky 
mountains,  and  stayed  there  some  weeks,  chiefly  in  the  district 
near  the  heads  of  the  two  branches  of  the  river  Saskatche- 
wan. During  winter  he  travelled  from  Fort  Edmonton  to 
Fort  Garry,  and  thence  by  St  Paul  to  New  York,  and,  after 
an  absence  of  nearly  a  year,  he  returned  to  England  in  March 
1860. 

That  the  present  Earl  of  Southesk  has  inherited  the  polished 
culture  and  literary  genius  of  his  distinguished  ancestors, 
the  publication  in  1875,  of  "Saskatchewan,  and  The  Rocky 
Mountains :  A  Diary  and  Narrative  of  Travel,  Sporty  and 
Adventure,  during  a  journey  through  The  Hudson's  Bay 
Companies  Territories,  in  1859  and  1860," — abundantly 
testifies. 

The  subject  matter  of  this  work,  so  carefully  and  truthfully 
treated,  and  written  in  such  an  easy  gracefully  flowing  style 
at  once  captivated  the  reading  public,  whose  universally 


KINNAIRD  CASTLE.  307 

favourable  verdict  has  at  once  placed  it  among  our  standard 
books  of  modern  travel. 

Lord  Southesk  married,  1st,  on  19th  June  1849,  the  Lady 
Catherine  Hamilton  Noel,  third  daughter  of  the  first  Earl  of 
Gainsborough,  and  of  that  marriage  there  was  issue  one  son 
and  three  daughters.  Lady  Catherine  Carnegie  died  in 
London,  on  9th  March  1855,  only  a  few  months  previous  to 
the  restoration  of  the  Southesk  titles,  and  was  buried  in  the 
family  vault  of  Kinnaird. 

Lord  Southesk  married,  2ndly,  on  29th  November  1860, 
the  Lady  Susan  Catherine  Mary  Murray,  eldest  daughter 
of  Alexander,  Edward,  sixth  Earl  of  Dunmore,  and  of  this 
marriage  there  is  issue  one  son  and  four  daughters. 

Charles  Lord  Carnegie,  eldest  son  of  the  Earl  of  Southesk, 
K.T.,  attained  his  majority  on  the  20th  March  1875.  The 
titles  of  the  Southesk  family,  as  already  noticed,  having  been 
attainted  in  the  rising  of  1715,  this  was  the  first  occasion 
since  that  date,  that  the  coming  of  age  of  a  Lord  Carnegie 
had  been  celebrated,  the  present  Lord  Southesk  having  got 
the  titles  restored  a  few  years  ago.  A  very  laudable  desire 
was,  therefore,  expressed  among  the  tenants  of  Lord  Southesk's 
extensive  estates,  and  the  gentlemen  of  the  county  in  general, 
that  suitable  recognition  should  be  made  of  the  interesting 
occurrence.  Accordingly,  a  magnificent  banquet  was  given 
in  his  honour  on  the  30th  March,  in  the  Mechanics'  Institute, 
Brechin,  at  which  there  was  a  large  attendance  of  noblemen 
and  gentlemen  of  the  county.  The  writer  having  been  an 
honoured  guest  at  the  banquet,  did  what  he  could  to  render 
the  proceedings  both  appropriate  and  agreeable.  The  ^'  Con- 
gratulatory Ode"  which  he  composed  specially  for  the 
occasion,  was  read  by  the  Bev.  Mr  Cameron,  minister  of 
FameU,  with  great  power  and  effect  The  Ode  is  as 
follows : — 

COSOaATULATOBT  ODB. 

Hail !  youthful  scion  of  a  Doble  race, 

In  whose  Teina  runs  the  purple  blood  of  earls  ! 


308  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LE6END& 

Six  hundred  yean  ihy  pedigree  can  boost, 
From  John  de  Balinhard,  unto  thy  sire, 
Whoee  cultured  mind  a  radiance  sheds  around. 
More  brilliant  far  than  daring  deeds  of  arms, 
Or  senatorial  triumphs  in  the  State — 
Whose  glory,  gourd-like,  fadeth  in  a  night. 

Hail !  youthful  sdon  of  a  noble  race  ! 
On  this  auspicious  day  we  greet  thee  well. 
And  bid  thee  welcome  to  our  feudal  feast ; 
Yet,  not  as  Tassals  pay  we  homage  due — 
We  meet  as  brothers,  knit  by  every  tie 
Of  friendship  true,  affectionate  regard. 
We  go  not  forth  to  war,  our  trumpets  hang 
Unsounded  in  the  coiridors  of  peace, 
Through  which  in  low-breathed  music  ever  rolls 
The  fervent  homage  of  the  loving  heart. 

Hail  1  youthful  scion  of  a  noble  race  I 
Thy  long,  illustrious,  bright  ancestral  line, 
By  warriors  brave  not  all  alone  adom'd, 
But  statesmen  high  in  offices  of  trust — 
Poets,  lawyers,  judges,  men  of  high  repute. 
And  loftiest  range  of  thought,  poetic  song, 
Whoee  mystic  numbers  vibrate  in  the  ear, 
like  ancient,  well-remembered  melodies. 

Hail  f  youthful  scion  of  a  noble  race ! 

The  song  of  welcome  greets  thee  from  the  bills, 

Re-echoed  from  Monrommon*s  sylvan  moor. 

Whose  woods  are  vocal  with  responsive  praise  ; 

The  South  Esk,  sparkling  bright  with  jewelled  beams, 

Enraptured  onward  flows  in  golden  joy. 

And  virgin  flowerets  on  its  emerald  banks 

Blush  sweeter  in  the  fresh  spring-time  for  thee. 

And  lo  1  in  gossamer  robes  of  purest  white, 

Gay  crowned  with  diadems  of  roseate  blooms. 

Come  tripping  light  with  fairy  feet,  the  band 

Of  loving  sisters,  whose  soft  voices,  blent 

With  Nature's  joyous  songs,  sweet  fill  the  air 

With  strains  divine  of  richest  harmony  1 

Hail !  youthful  scion  of  a  noble  race, 

In  whose  veins  runs  the  purple  blood  of  earls  I 

Uphold  by  noble  deeds  thine  honoured  name. 

Not  circumscribed  by  earth's  contracted  rerge, 

But  stretching  to  infinity  of  space, 

And  graspiog  themes  of  philosophic  thought, 


KINNAIRD  CASTLE.  309 

Soar  apwards  ever  with  enlightened  ken. 
To  higher,  purer  spheres  of  light  diyine. 
Thus,  like  the  eagle  with  expanded  wings — 
Imperial  emblem  of  tiiine  ancient  House — 
Sweep  with  thy  pinions  earth,  and  heaven,  and  time, 
Thy  keen  eye  fixed  on  far-off  heights  sublime, 
Where,  in  unfading  splendour,  gleams  the  crown — 
Eternal  prize  of  glory  and  renown. 

The  "  Song  of  Welcome,"  also  composed  by  the  Author,  for 
the  occasion,  was  finely  and  spiritedly  sung  by  Mr  Alexander 
Foote,  son  of  the  Rev.  Dr  Foote,  Brechin : — 

SONG  OF  WELCOME. 

Air, — "  Lewie  Gordon. " 

Brightest  hope  of  Southesk  vale  ! 
Borne  upon  the  fragrant  gale. 
Songs  of  beauty  through  the  dale, 

Ring  out  clear  to  welcome  thee  ! 

Joy  each  swelling  bosom  fills. 
High  o*er  Carcary's  gushing  rills, 
-Echoed  back  from  Grampian  hills, 
Sounds  the  trump  of  Jubilee } 

Bursting  woods  all  vocal  sweet, 
Blossoms  white  so  rare  and  meet, 
dust'ring  fondly  round  our  feet, 

Winds  so  balmy,  fresh,  and  free  I 

Hark !  Monrommon  joins  the  song. 
South  Esk's  hymns  the  strains  prolong, 
Maidens  singing  trip  along. 

Vocal  Talley,  mountain,  sea  t 

Scion  of  an  ancient  line  ! 
Weal  or  woe,  the  task  be  thine — 
Boldly  tread  the  path  dirine. 
Leading  on  to  liberty  t 

Pure  thy  soaring  high  desires, 
Strive  to  emulate  thy  sires. 
Keeping  bright  the  holy  fires 

Pointing  heaVnward,  God,  to  Thee  I 


CHAPTER  XXIIL 

GUTHRIE  OASTLE. 

Hail !  Castle  Guthrie's  turrets  high 
Upshooting  dark  against  the  sky, 
That  grim  old  loop-holed  stately  tower. 
The  fit  abode  of  feudal  power. 

Leaving  the  princely  mansion  of  Kinnaird,  the  first  place  of 
historic  importance  we  reach,  as  we  retrace  our  steps  through 
the  beautiful  vale  of  Guthrie,  is  Guthrie  Castle,  the  chief 
seat  of  the  ancient  family  of  that  ilk. 

The  lands  of  Lour,  situated  in  the  barony  and  parish  of 
Inverarity,  were  erected  into  a  barony  by  Alexander  HI., 
and  before  the  year  1464,  they  became  the  property  of 
George  first  Earl  of  Eothes.  On  the  18th  October  of  that 
year,  the  earl  granted  a  charter  of  the  barony  of  Lour,  the 
lands  of  Muirtown,  and  half  of  the  lands  of  Carrate,  with 
the  superiority  of  the  barony,  all  in  the  shire  of  Forfar,  in 
favour  of  Sir  David  Guthrie  of  Kincaldrum,  Treasurer  to 
James  II.  To  much  the  same  age  as  Bedcastle,  which  was 
occupied  down  to  about  the  close  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
probably  belongs  the  tower  or  older  portion  of  Guthrie 
Castle.  Sir  David  Guthrie  of  Kincaldrum  and  Lour, 
acquired  the  barony  of  Guthrie  from  the  Earl  of  Crawford, 
about  the  year  1465,  and  became  the  founder  of  the  family 
of  that  ilk.  The  new  dormitory  of  the  Abbey  Church, 
Arbroath,  was  erected  about  1470,  during  the  time  of  Abbot 
Guthrie. 

The  barony  of  Guthrie  was  probably  Crown  property  when 
William  the  Lion  granted  the  church  and  its  patronage  to 
the    Abbey  of   Arbroath.     Sir    David    Guthrie,  when  he 


GUTHRIE  CASTLE.  311 

acquired  the  barony,  purchased  the  church  and  patronage  of 
Guthrie  from  the  Abbey  of  Arbroath,  and  erected  it  into  a 
Collegiate  Church,  with  a  provost  and  three  canons,  to  which 
number  his  son  added  five.  Sir  David  Guthrie  was  designed 
in  the  charters  of  King  James  III.,  in  the  public  records, 
fint.  Captain  of  the  King's  Guard,  afterwards  Comptroller, 
then  Register,  and  afterwards.  Lord  Treasurer,  and  last  of 
al^  Lord  Justice  General  of  Scotland.  He  was  the  son  of 
Alexander  Guthrie,  laird  of  Kincaldrum,  and  brother  to 
Abbot  Eichard  of  Arbroath,  and  appears  to  have  been  the 
most  iUustrious  of  hia  family.  His  grandson  James  was  the 
parent  of  James  Guthrie,  the  famous  mart3rr  who  was  executed 
at  the  Grassmarket  of  Edinburgh  in  1651. 

The  celebrated  William  Guthrie,  minister  of  Fenwick, 
author  of  the  '*  Christian's  Great  Interest,"  was  a  son  of  the 
laird  of  Pitforthy,  a  collateral  branch  of  the  Guthrie  family, 
fie  was  bom  at  Pitforthy  in  1620,  and  died  October  10, 1655. 
His  ashes  repose  in  the  south  aisle  of  the  Cathedral  of 
Brechin.  WilUam  Guthrie,  the  historian  of  a  later  date,  was 
a  member  of  the  same  family. 

In  the  charter  by  Sir  John  Erskine  of  Dun  to  Walter  of 
Ogilvy,  of  the  lands  of  Carcarry,  18th  March  1400,  .occurs 
the  name  of  John  de  Guthry.  In  the  year  1506  the  Abbot 
and  Convent  of  Arbroath,  granted  to  Thomas,  Lord  of  Inner- 
meith  and  Baron  of  Inverkeilor,  by  an  indenture  made 
between  them,  the  free  use  of  that  haven  for  fishing  purposes 
during  his  lifetime.  To  this  document,  Alexander  Guthrie  of 
that  ilk,  subscribes  his  name  and  designation  as  a  witness. 
In  the  same  year  Sir  Alexander  Guthrie  of  that  ilk,  adhibits 
his  name  to  the  retour  of  the  service  of  James,  Lord  Ogilvy, 
as  heir  of  his  father.  Lord  Ogilvy,  in  the  lands  and  mill  of 
the  Kirkton  of  Kynnell.  Andrew  Guthrie  of  that  ilk,  sub- 
scribes his  name  to  the  retour  of  the  service  of  James,  Lord 
Ogilvy  of  Airlie,  as  heir  to  James,  Lord  Ogilvy,  his  uncle, 
in  the  lands  of  Brekko  and  Ballischan,  31st  August  1558. 

"  Deidlie  feuds  "  continued  to  rage  for  generations  between 


312  STRATHMORK  :  ITS  SCKNBS  AND  LEGENDS. 

the  (jflid jnes  and  their  neighbour  and  riyal,  Guthrie  of  thai 
ilk.  In  1578,  Patrick  Gardyne  of  that  ilk,  fell  by  the  hand 
of  WilUam  Guthrie.  Ten  years  afterwards,  doubtless  ous  of 
revenge  for  the  death  of  their  chief,  the  Gardynes  attacked 
and  killed  the  head  of  the  family  of  Guthrie ;  and  according 
to  the  charge  preferred  against  them,  the  deed  was  committed 
'^  beside  the  place  of  Innerpeffer,  vponne  sett  purpois  pro- 
visioune,  auld  feid  and  foirthocht  feUony."  These  disastrcns 
feuds  became  so  serious,  that  the  king  was  called  upon  to 
interpose  his  authority  between  them ;  and  not  long  theie- 
after,  the  estates  of  both  families  were  reduced  and  broken 
up,  those  of  Guthrie  passing  into  the  hands  of  Bishop  Guthne 
of  Moray,  who  was  descended  £rom  John  Guthrie  of  HiUtown, 
fourth  son  of  Sir  Alexander  Guthrie. 

Guthrie — ^anciently  spelt  Guthery,  Guthre,  and  Guthiy — 
has  been  a  name  of  distinction  in  Scotland  as  far  back  as  the 
records  of  the  countiy  extend.  It  is  believed  that  the  family 
of  Guthrie  is  the  most  ancient  of  the  County  of  Angus.  It  is 
matter  of  undoubted  fact,  that  they  were  men  of  rank  and 
property  long  before  the  time  of  James  11.  of  Scotland,  and 
that  many  of  the  house  were  distinguished  by  their  talents, 
enterprise  and  valour.  Sir  Alexander  Guthrie,  with  one  of 
his  sons  and  three  brothers-in-law,  feU  at  Flodden  Field.  It 
is  true  Sir  David  Guthrie  of  Rincaldrum  acquired  the  lands 
of  Guthrie  in  1465,  but  the  family,  as  will  afterwards  appear, 
were  men  of  eminence  and  distinction  centuries  before  that 
era.  The  Rincaldrum,  or  more  properly  the  Brigton  Guthries, 
where  the  ancestors  of  the  writer  have  resided  for  centuries, 
are  the  most  ancient  of  the  clan,  all  the  other  direct  or 
collateral  branches  having  originally  sprung  from  this  the 
most  ancient  stock  of  which  we  have  any  record. 

Guthrie  Castle,  the  principal  residence  of  the  chief  of  the 
fjEunily  of  that  name  is  of  great  antiquity.  Sir  David  Guthrie, 
already  mentioned,  obtained  warrant  under  the  great  seal  to 
build  the  present  Castle  in  1468,  but  the  old  Castle  was  in  exist- 
ence centuries  before  that  period.   It  is  still  in  good  preservation 


GUTHRIE  CASTLE.  313 

and  mnst  fonnerly,  when  surrounded  by  water,  have  been  a 
place  of  considerable  strength.  The  fact  has  already  been 
alluded  to,  that,  in  1299,  when  Sir  William  Wallace  had  re- 
signed the  guardianship  of  Scotland  and  retired  to  France,  the 
Northern  lairds  of  Scotland  sent  Squire  Guthrie  to  request 
his  return,  in  order  to  assist  in  opposing  the  English. 

The  Castle  of  Guthrie  to  which  the  present  laird  has  added 
a* spire  and  other  castellated  embellishments  viewed  from  the 
south,  with  the  gently  undulating  hill  of  Guthrie  as  a  fitting 
back-ground  to  the  pleasant  picture,  has  a  very  grand  and  impos- 
ing appearance.  Although  the  antique  towers  are  only  seen  at  a 
distance,  uprearing  their  lofty  pinnacles  above  the  imibrageous 
woods,  the  effect  produced  on  the  mind  is  pleasing  and'  classi- 
cal in  the  extreme.  The  castellated  gateway  is  one  of  the  most 
magnificent  in  the  country.  It  is  a  fine  gothic  structure 
composed  of  a  graceful  arch,  flanked  with  towers  and  bearing 
a  fine  sculpture  of  the  family  arms.  Guthrie  Junction  is  now 
one  of  the  most  important  stations  on  the  great  line  of  rail- 
way from  London  to  Aberdeen.  In  the  southern  division  of 
the  parish,  is  a  Soman  Camp,  situate  about  five  miles  south- 
east frx)m  Forfar.  It  is  one  of  the  most  entire  of  any  of  the 
Roman  temporary  camps  that  have  been  discovered.  Its 
length  is  about  2280  feet  by  1080,  close  to  the  south-east  angle 
is  an  enclosure,  situated  on  the  highest  ground,  whence  all 
the  rest  of  the  camp  is  seen.  Its  gate  is  covered  with  a  straight 
traverse,  like  that  of  the  camp.  This  camp,  on  the  Polybian 
system,  would  hold,  it  is  supposed,  10,000  men. 

The  church  and  manse  are  very  pleasantly  situated,  being  on 
the  verge  of  a  declivity,  sloping  down  into  the  valley  through 
which  the  Lunan  flows  peacefully  on  its  course  to  the  sea» 
The  Guthrie  arms  surmount  the  gateway  of  the  churchyard, 
with  the  initials  and  date— <'  G  :  B.  G :  1 637.  "  There  are  some 
curious  mottos  on  the  graveyard  stones,  not  the  least  curious 
being  the  following  over  the  burying  ground  of  a  fiunily  named 
Spence : — 


314  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

"Beside  this  stone  lyes  many  Spenoes, 
Who  in  their  life  did  no  offences ; 
And  where  they  lived,  if  that  ye  speir, 
In  Guthrie's  ground  four  hundred  year.*' 

Under  the  head  "  Brigfcon,"  I  have  given  the  legend  of  Sir 
David  Oathrie  and  Ladye  Douglas,  and  alluded  to  the  fine 
memorial  window  erected  in  the  Episcopal  church  of  Forfar  by 
the  present  esteemed  laird  of  Guthrie,  in  memory  of  his 
father  and  mother,  Joannis  Gvthrie  de  Ovthrie,  and  Anns 
Douglas  de  Brigton. 

Dr  Jamieson  gives  Guthrie  as  a  Pictish  name,  and  shews  its 
affinity  to  some  Icelandic  and  Danish  names.  This  derivation 
of  the  name  is  borne  out  by  other  authorities,  who  aver  that 
the  Guthries  are  descended  from  Guthrum,  a  royal  prince  of 
Denmark,  who  came  to,  and  settled  in  Scotland  in  the  earliest 
era  of  her  history.  The  oldest  spelling  of  the  name  is  "  Guth- 
ryn,"  and  the  Gaelic  Gath-^rran,  means  "  a  dart-shaped  divi- 
sion,"  being  singularly  expressive  of  the  form  of  the  parish. 

Francis  Guthrie  of  Gaigie  married  his  cousin,  Berthia 
Guthrie,  only  child  of  Bishop  Guthrie.  This  Francis  Guthrie 
being  a  grandson  of  Alexander  Guthrie  of  Guthrie,  thus,  as 
the  direct  lineal  descendant  of  the  Guthries  of  Guthrie,  re- 
instated the  direct  line  of  the  family  in  their  ancient  posses- 
sions. The  provincial  couplet  still  applies  to  the  properties 
alluded  to : — 

"  Guthrie  of  Guthrie, 
And  Guthrie  of  Gaigie, 
Guthrie  of  Taybank, 
And  Guthrie  of  Graigie." 

The  Guthries  are  connected  by  marriage  with  some  of  the 
noblest  families  in  the  county,  including  those  of  Panmure, 
Southesk,  Strathmore,  and  Airlie. 

GuTHBiE  Abms — Quarterly :  1st  and  4th  or,  a  lion,  rampant,  gn., 
armed  and  langned,  az. ;  2d  and  3d  a&,  a  garb,  or. 

Crest — ^A  dexter  arm,  issuing,  holding  a  drawn  sword,  ppr. 

Supporters — ^Two  knights,  armed  at  all  points,  with  batons  in  their 
dexter  hands,  and  the  vizors  of  their  helmets  up,  all  ppr. 

Motto  (Above  the  Crest) — Sto  Pro  Veritate. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

ABERLEMNO. 

There's  not  a  cairn  or  mossy  stone, 
But  hath  some  legend  of  its  own. 

Bidding  adieu  for  the  present  to  the  classic  precincts  and 
beautiful  surroundings  of  Castle  Guthrie,  we  shall  now  leisurely 
wend  our  way  over  the  eastern  shoulder  of  Turin  hill,  casting 
An  admiring  gaze,  on  our  way,  at  the  beautiful  Loch  of  Res- 
cobie,  whence  the  Lunan  takes  its  rise,  on  our  left,  with  the 
l^lorious  Howe  stretching  far  away  to  the  west  in  all  its  golden 
loveliness  and  unparalleled  beauty. 

We  are  now  approaching  the  far-famed  ''  Cross  Stones  of 
Aberlemno,"  all  the  more  interesting  because  of  the  mythical 
halo  which  still  encompasses  with  uncertainty  their  original 
design  and  meaning. 

The  parish  derives  its  name  from  the  small  river  Lemno, 
which  has  its  origin  in  a  luring  near  the  house  of  Carsegownie. 
This  stream  falls  into  the  South  Esk  near  the  ruins  of  the 
ancient  castle  of  FinhaveiL  Aberlemno  signifies  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Lemno.  Close  to  the  source  of  the  Lemno  the  outlines 
of  an  ancient  church  are  still  visible,  but  whether  this  was  the 
original  church  of  Aberlemno  or  only  a  chapel  attached  to  the 
neighbouring  Castle  of  Finhaven,  is  very  doubtful. 

A  charter  of  infeftment  of  the  Thanedom  of  Aberlenoche,  or 
Aberlemno,  was  granted  by  Robert  the  Bruce  to  William 
Blunt,  a  cadet  of  an  old  Dumfriesshire  family.  (Robertson's 
Index,  18).  Adam,  of  Anand,  a  canon  of  Dunkeld,  rector  of 
the  church  of  Monimail,  in  Fife,  1254-71,  appears  to  have 
been  the  proprietor,  at  that  time,  of  the  lands  of  Melgund  in 


316       STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

the  parish  of  Aberlemno.  The  family  held  these  lands  until 
the  year  1542,  when  the  heiress,  Janet  of  Anand,  with  consent 
of  her  second  husband,  Balfour  of  Baledmouth,  sold  them  to 
Cardinal  Beaton,  who  built  the  Castle  of  which  the  ruins 
still  remain.  The  estate  of  Aberlemno  was  acquired  in  1845, 
by  Patrick  Hunter  Thoms,  Esq.,  of  the  Crescent,  Dundee. 
Melgund  Castle  was  a  favourite  country  residence  of  Cardinal 
Beaton,  to  which,  tradition  saith,  he  frequently  resorted  for 
other  purposes  less  creditable  to  the  prelate's  character, 
and  less  consistent  with  his  vow  of  celibacy  than  a  mere  love 
of  retirement  or  of  relaxation  from  the  fatigues  of  public 
business.  The  remains  of  this  castle  are  still  extensive,  such 
as  the  spacious  banquetting  hall  and  other  portions  of  the 
building  which  indicate  it  to  have  originally  been  a  place  of 
great  strength  and  magnificence. 

Tradition  avers  that  Melgund  Castle  was,  for  some  consider- 
able time,  the  prison-residence  of  one  of  Cardinal  Beaton's 
Mistresses.  On  one  of  the  landing-places  of  the  stair,  which 
leads  to  the  tower  in  which  she  was  confined,  are  still  to  be 
seen,  in  antique  characters,  the  initials  M.  0.  which  refer,  it 
is  said,  to  Mary  Ogilvy,  daughter  of  one  of  the  most  ancient 
houses  in  Angus.     Her  violent  death  is  shrouded  in  mystery. 

Another  legend  commonly  associated  with  the  supposed 
attempt  to  build  Melgund  Castle  on  a  neighbouring  hill,  and 
its  ultimate  erection  in  its  present  low,  damp  situation,  in 
which  invisible  agencies  had  the  principal  share  in  the  demoU- 
tion  of  the  mythical  building,  is,  in  reality,  a  mere  counter- 
part of  the  tradition,  already  related  as  "  Legend  of  the  First 
Castle  of  Glamis." 

A  subterraneous  passage  at  the  bottom  of  one  of  the  towers 
of  Melgund,  although  now  closed  up  in  consequence,  it  is  said, 
of  a  cow  having  fallen  into  it  some  years  ago,  forms  still  a 
subject  of  mysterious  conjecture,  in  as  much  as  it  is  believed 
to  be  the  depository  of  prodigious  treasures  of  untold  value. 
The  fabulous  wealth  it  was  believed  to  contain,  induced  an 
adventurous  youth  to  explore  some  time  ago  its  mysterious 


ABKRLEMNO.  317 

recesses.  The  expectations  formed  with  regard  to  the  great 
discoveries  resulting  from  his  explorations,  were,  however, 
not  doomed  to  be  realised.  On  reappearing  again  amongst 
his  fellows,  the  only  information  that  could  be  extracted  from 
him  was  that  '^  he  had  gone  a  great  way  under  ground,  and  had 
seen  such  sights,  as,  he  blessed  God,  he  could  never  expect  to 
see  on  earth  again  !" 

Another  legend  in  regard  to  this  mysteriouB  passage,  is  of  a 
more  tragic  character.  The  last  laird  of  Melgund  having 
spent  all  his  fortune  in  one  night  at  cards,  left  the  room  in 
which  he  had  been  playing,  and  deliberately  went  with  his 
whole  family  into  this  awful  pit,  and  was  never  more  heard  of! 

Turin  hill,  the  highest  eminence  in  the  parish,  is  800  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  sea.  On  the  summit  of  this  hill,  are 
the  remains  of  an  ancient  fort,  still  called  Gamp  Castle.  The 
space  occupied  by  it  is  considerable,  and  has  been  fortified 
with  a  double  rampart.  The  view  frY)m  this  fort  is  veiy 
extensive,  and  must  have  been  admirably  fitted  for  a  watch- 
tower,  overlooking  the  vale  of  Guthrie  to  Sedhead  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  pass  from  Forfar  to  Brechin  on  the  other. 
This  camp  having  been  constructed  with  dry  stones,  and  these 
not  having  been  fused  and  cemented  by  the  action  of  fire, 
would  point  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  only  a  summer,  and 
not  a  permanent  camp  of  the  Romans. 

In  the  parish  churchyard  is  an  antique  obelisk  covered  with 
hieroglyphics.  On  one  side  of  this  stone  is  a  curious  cross  in 
bold  relievo,  and  entirely  covered  with  flowered  ornaments. 
On  the  reverse,  towards  the  upper  part  of  the  stone,  is  another 
very  much  defaced,  and  having  no  obvious  meaning.  Beneath 
it  there  are  some  rudely  sculptured  figures  on  horseback, 
armed  cap-a^ee  with  helmets.  Below  these  there  are  other 
three  equestrian  figures,  one  of  which  holds  a  baton  in  his 
right  hand,  while  the  others  appear  in  the  attitude  of  encount- 
ering him.  Also,  a  little  to  the  north  of  the  parish  church, 
are  three  ancient  obeUsks.  One  of  these  monumental  stones 
is  about  eight  feet^in  height,  ornamented  on  one  side  with  a 


318  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

cross,  richly  carved,  and  with  two  female  figures  in  the  garb 
and  attitude  of  mourning.  The  other  side  is  sculptured  m 
relievo,  with  men,  some  on  horseback,  and  others,  on  foot, 
intermingled  with  dogs.  The  other  two  stones  are  of  smaller 
dimensions.  They  have  also  been  ornamented ;  but  the  hand 
of  time  has  greatly  defaced  them. 

According  to  the  Annals  of  Ulster,  a  battle  was  fought  at 
Aberlemno  in  the  year  697,  in  which  "  Conquar  Mac  Echa 
M'Maldwin,  and  Aod,  the  tall  King  of  Daleriaid,*'  were 
slain ;  and  that,  subsequently,  Malcolm  II.  defeated  the  Danes 
in  the  same  neighbourhood.  On  the  latter  occasion,  one 
portion  of  the  Northmen  is  said  to  have  landed  in  the  South 
Esk,  at  Montrose,  another  at  Lunan  Bay,  and  a  third  at  Barry. 
The  slaughter  was  great  at  Aberlemno,  but  not  more  so  than 
took  place  at  Barry,  in  which  Camus,  the  reputed  leader  of 
the  Northmen,  was  killed.  Tradition  avers  that  the  slaughter 
here  was  so  great,  that  a  neighbouring  bum  ran  three  days 
with  human  blood,  as  is  commemorated  in  an  old  local 
rhyme :  — 

"  Lochty,  Lochty,  is  red,  red,  red 
For  it  has  run  three  days  wi'  bluid. " 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  cause,  it  is  quite  certain  that 
in  no  part  of  Angus  have  there  been  found  so  many  traces  of 
ancient  sepulture  and  tumuli,  as  in  the  district  of  Carnoustie 
and  Aberlemno. 

However  antiquarians  may  be  divided  in  opinion  as  to  the 
design  for  which  they  were  erected,  local  tradition  uniformly 
avers,  that  the  sculptured  stone  monuments  had  their  origin 
in  the  defeat  of  the  Danes  by  King  Malcolm.  The  peasantry 
also  believe  that  the  curious  symbols  engraved  upon  the  stones, 
are  a  species  of  hieroglyphics,  and  that  those  at  Aberlemno 
were  once  read  by  a  Danish  soldier !  This  tradition  is  of 
ancient  origin,  and  the  interpretation  of  the  figures  is  pre- 
served in  these  rude  couplets : 


Here  lies  the  King  o*  Denmark's  son, 
Wr  twenty  thousand  o'  his  horse  and  men. 


ABERLEMNO.  319 

And— 

"  Here  lies  the  King  o'  Denmark  sleepin'. 
Naebody  can  pass  by  this  without  weepin*. " 

Other  traditions  aver  that  these  cross-stones  of  Aberlemno 
commemorate  the  defeat  of  one  section  of  a  powerful  army, 
which  Sueno,  a  Danish  prince,  sent  into  Scotland  about  the 
beginning  of  the  eleventh  century,  to  avenge  the  destruction 
of  a  previous  army,  and  the  death  of  his  two  generals, 
Eneck  and  Olave.  These  traditions,  however  evidently  refer 
to  the  victory  obtained  over  the  Danes  by  Malcolm  IL  already 
alluded  to. 

About  a  mile  south-east  of  the  church  of  Aberlemno,  in  a 
hillock  upon  the  estate  of  Pitkennedy,  was  lately  found  a 
rudely  constructed  stone  coffin,  containing  a  clay  urn.  Near 
the  urn  were  scattered  a  number  of  beads,  composed  of  jet  or 
cannel  coal,  of  which  upwards  of  a  hundred  were  recovered. 
A  little  to  the  eastward  of  the  church,  are  the  ruins  of  the 
Castle  of  Flemington ;  those  of  Melgund  Castle  being  about 
two  miles  north-east  from  the  church.  Angus  Hill,  from 
which  some  authorities  assert  the  county  takes  its  name, 
rises  to  a  considerable  height  in  the  north-eastern  section  of 
the  parish. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

FINHAYEN   CASTLE. 

Ca«tl68j  forts,  and  classic  streams, 
Bealismg  youthful  dreams, 
Mystic  scenes  in  bright  anay. 
View  them  e'er  they  pass  away. 

FiNHAVEN,  or  Oathlaw,  to  which  we  are  now  approaching, 
lies  on  ihe  south  bank  of  the  South  Esk,  being  the  adjoining 
parish  to  that  of  Aberlemno,  and  distant  about  four  miles  in  a 
northerly  direction  from  Forfar.  In  the  Acts  of  the  Parliar 
ment  of  Scotland,  and  in  other  old  records,  this  parish  is 
variously  spelled  Fynnevin,  Ffinheaven,  and  Phinheaven.  The 
name  is  supposed  to  be  compounded  of  two  Gaelic  words,  Fin, 
signifying  white  or  clear,  and  Avon,  or  Aven,  signifying  a 
water  or  a  river. 

Finhaven  Castle  is  an  object  of  great  interest  to  the 
antiquarian  tourist,  for  it  was  in  days  of  yore  the  magnificent 
abode  of  the  powerful  family  of  Lindsay.  It  surmounts  the 
steep  bank  of  the  Lemno,  near  the  place  where  that  beautiful 
stream  joins  the  Esk,  and  derives  its  name  '^  Fion-ablian,"  or 
the  *'  wnite  river,"  from  the  foam  cast  up  by  the  rippling  of 
the  waters  of  that  little  stream  at  their  confluence  with  the 
Esk.  The  site  of  the  castle  is  finely  chosen,  in  a  military 
point  of  view,  being  situated  at  the  entrance  of  the  great 
valley  of  Strathmore,  and  so  as  to  command  the  whole  of  the 
Lowlands,  beneath  the  base  of  the  Orampians,  and  guard  the 
passes  of  the  Highlands  through  the  neighbouring  valleys  of 
Glenisla,  Glenprosen,  and  Glenclova.  All  its  ancient  splendour 
is  now  gone,  for  you  observe  the  ruins  consists  of  little  more 


FINHAVEN  CASTLE.  321 

than  the  keep,  a  solitary  weather-beaten  tower  of  the  four- 
teenth century,  split  asunder  as  by  lightning  and  over-grown 
with  ivy.  But  the  associations  remain,  and  the  situation  of 
the  fine  old  tower  in  a  rich  and  fertile  vale,  with  the  river 
Esk  running  almost  under  its  walls,  is  picturesquely  inter- 
esting in  the  eztrema 

You  see  these  iron  spikes  jutting  out  from  the  mouldering 
walls )  It  was  on  these  spikes,  tradition  relates,  that  ''  Earl 
Beardie,"  proprietor  then  of  the  castle,  was  wont  to  hang  his 
prisoners.  This  was  the  same  Earl  Beardie  or  "  Tiger  Earl," 
whose  acquaintance  we  have  already  fonned  as  the  chief  actor 
at  Glamis  in  the  terrible  legend  of  '^The  Secret  Chamber." 
The  following  episode  in  his  history  fiilly  bears  out  the  feroci- 
ous features  of  his  character. 

Earl  Beardie  joined  in  the  celebrated  league  with  the  Earls  of 
Douglas  and  Boss,  and  fought.  May  18,  1452,  at  the  battle  of 
Brechin,  alluded  to  under  the  history  of  '^  Kinnaird  Castle  " — 
in  which  he  was  defeated  in  disgrace.  His  great  object  in 
this  intrigue,  was  to  oppose  Huntly,  the  Commander  of  the 
royal  army,  in  his  passage  across  the  Mouth;  and  the  cause 
of  his  defeat  was  the  desertion  of  the  laird  of  Balnamoon  to 
the  enemy.  He  was  pursued  to  the  castle  of  Finhaven,  and 
there  gave  vent  to  his  rage  in  the  most  passionate  language, 
exclaiming,  that  "  he  would  willingly  live  seven  years  in  hell, 
to  acquire  the  glory  which  had  that  day  fallen  to  Huntly  ! " 

In  the  court  of  the  castle,  in  the  time  of  Earl  Beardie,  there 
grew  a  magnificent  Spanish  chestnut  nearly  forty-three  feet  in 
circumference,  and  probably  served  as  the  *'  covin-tree,"  under 
which  the  stirrup-cup  was  drunk,  when  guests  departed  on 
their  journey.  There  is  a  tradition  connected  with  this  tree, 
— ^that  a  gillie  who  had  been  sent  on  an  errand  from  the  castle 
of  Careston  to  that  of  Finhaven,  had  the  hardihood  to  cut  a 
stick  from  it,  which  so  enraged  the  Earl  that  he  hanged  him  on 
a  branch  of  it,  and  that  immediately  afterwards  the  tree  began 
to  decay.  It  was  not,  however,  till  1740,  that  the  bitter  frost 
of  that  year  killed  it  outright,  and  for  twenty  years  later  it 


322  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGEND& 

continaed  standing  till  a  storm  in  1760  finally  levelled  it  with 
the  ground.  The  legend  would  not  be  complete  without 
adding,  that  the  ghost  of  the  gillie  has  ever  since  constantly 
walked  between  Finhaven  and  Careston,  under  the  de- 
signation of  "  Jock  Barefoot/'  getting  credit  for  all  the  tricks 
and  rogueries  commonly  attributed  in  England  to  Bobin 
Groodfellow. 

The  Barony  of  the  Forest  of  Platane,  a  primeval  forest 
chiefly  of  oak,  extended  westward  of  the  castle  for  several  miles, 
in  which  the  Earls  of  Crawford  had  a  lodge,  or  residence  in  the 
greenwood,  the  vestiges  of  which  are  still  pointed  out  under  the 
name  of  Lindsay's  Hall.  The  forest  has  long  since  disappeared 
but  the  tradition  of  the  county  bears  that  the  wild  cat  could 
leap  from  tree  to  tree  from  the  castle  of  Finhaven  to  the  hill  of 
Kirriemuir. 

Alexander  de  Lindsay,  Lord  of  that  ilk.  Earl  of  Crawford^ 
Knight, — as  the  Master  of  Crawford,  and  Victor  of  Arbroath 
is  designed  in  a  charter  of  1449 — ^lb  still  remembered 
traditionally  in  Scotland,  as  "  The  Tiger,"  or  "  Earl  Beardie." 
These  nicknames  he  acquired  from  the  ferocity  of  his  character, 
and  the  exuberance  of  his  beard,  although  a  more  modem 
authority  derives  the  latter  epithet  from  the  little  reverence 
in  which  he  held  the  King's  courtiers,  and  his  readiness  to 
^'  beard  the  best  of  them." 

In  consequence  of  his  defeat  at  the  battle  of  Brechin, 
already  alluded  to,  the  superstition  long  prevailed,  that  green 
was  unlucky  to  the  Lindsays,  the  prevailing  colour  of  their 
dress  having  on  this  occasion  been  of  that  colour : — ^that 

*'  A  Lindaay  with  green 
Should  never  be  seen." 

Although  after  his  reconciliation  with  the  king,  Earl 
Beardie's  whole  character  changed,  and  from  being  the  wildest 
of  the  wild  chiefs  of  the  north,  he  became  '^ane  faithful 
subject  and  sicker  target,  (sure  shield)  to  the  king  and  his 
subjects,"   tradition  has  forgotten  his  repentance,  and  the 


FINHAVEN  CASTLE.  323 

tiger  earl  is  believed  to  be  still  playing  at  "  the  deil's  buiks," 
in  the  Castle  of  Glamis,  doomed  hj  the  Evil  One  to  play  there 
till  the  end  of  time  ! 

This  legend  receives  in  this  neighbourhood  a  somewhat 
different  interpretation  from  that  given  to  it  by  the  writer  in 
the  tradition  of  the  ''  Secret  Chamber,"  inasmuch  as  it  is 
averred  that  Beardie,  who  was  constantly  losing,  having  been 
advised  by  one  of  his  companions  to  give  up  the  game— 
"  Never,"  he  exclaimed — "till  the  day  of  judgment ! "  The 
Evil  One,  it  is  further  said,  instantly  appeared,  and  both 
chamber  and  company  vanished.  No  one  has  since  discovered 
them,  but  in  the  stormy  nights  when  the  winds  howl  drearily 
around  the  old  castle,  the  stamps  and  curses  of  the  doomed 
gamesters  may  still,  it  is  said,  be  heard  mingling  with  the 
blast.  Both  versions  are  terrible  enough,  and  I  leave  my 
readers  to  judge  which  is  the  more  awful  of  the  two. 

Earl  Beardie,  left  by  his  wife  Elizabeth  Dunbar,  who  sur- 
vived him  for  nearly  half  a  century,  two  sons,  minors,  David 
fifth  Earl  of  Crawford,  created  Duke  of  Montrose  by  James 
III.,  and  Sir  Alexander  of  Auchtermonzie,  who  inherited  that 
barony  from  his  mother,  and  who  latterly  became  seventh 
Earl  of  Crawford. 

Earl  Beardie  left  a  daughter  also.  Lady  Elizabeth  Lindsay, 
wife  of  John  the  first  Lord  Drummond,  and  ancestress  of  the 
unhappy  Damley,  father  by  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  of  James 
I.  of  Great  Britain. 

Cardinal  Beaton,  the  ruins  of  whose  once  splendid  residence 
at  Melgund  we  have  just  seen  and  described,  resided  for  a 
short  time  at  Finhaven  Castle  in  1545,  and  there  publicly, 
and  in  a  style  of  the  most  ostentatious  magnificence,  married 
one  of  his  natural  daughters  to  the  Master  of  Crawford. 
He  had  six  natural  daughters,  and  if  he  had  bestowed  upon 
each  of  them  the  same  dowry  of  4000  merks,  they  must  have 
been  among  the  best  tochered  brides  in  Scotland. 

On  that  beautiful  point  of  land,  a  little  below  the  castle  at 
the  junction  of  the  Esk  and  the  Lemno,  are  still  visible  the 


324  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

foundations  of  an  old  church  called  the  Church  of  Aikenhauld, 
and  this  would  appear  to  have  been  the  original  parish 
church. 

The  celebrated  "  Vitrified  Fort/'  on  the  hill  of  Finhaven, 
is  one  of  the  earliest  and  most  conspicuous  of  those  ancient 
monuments,  which  must  in  early  times  have  been  the  resid- 
ence of  some  very  powerful  tribes.  This  hiU  rises  to  the 
height  of  about  1500  feet  above  the  level  of  the  surrounding 
country ;  and  commands  a  very  rich  and  extensive  prospect 
of  hill  and  dale  in  all  their  panoramic  beauty. 

The  fort  is  in  the  form  of  a  parallelogram,  extending  from 
east  to  west  by  recent  accurate  measurement,  about  476  feet. 
At  the  east  end  the  breadth  is  about  83  feet,  and  towards 
the  west  end  which  is  somewhat  lower  down  the  hill,  the 
breadth  is  about  125  feet  The  exact  height  and  thickness 
of  the  walls  cannot  now  be  ascertained,  although,  in  their 
present  state,  they  are  in  many  places  upwards  of  ten  feet 
from  the  ground.  The  masonry  of  the  walls  must  have  been 
subjected  to  the  action  of  a  very  powerful  fire.  The  most 
fusible  stones  are  placed  indiscriminately  on  the  walls  with 
others,  in  order  to  bind  them  together.  It  is  evident  that 
this  work  had  been  raised  at  a  great  amount  and  expense  of 
labour  and  skill,  and  constructed  upon  military  principles,  for 
the  holding  of  a  numerous  garrison,  with  walls  and  outworks 
for  their  defence,  and  capable  of  resisting  not  only  a  sudden 
attack,  but  a  lengthened  siege.  It  is  undoubted  that  this 
fort  was  one  of  the  strongholds  of  those  early  tribes,  who 
inhabited  the  country  about  the  time  of  the  invasion  of  the 
Bomans. 

About  two  miles  and  a  half  to  the  north-west  of  this  fort 
is  the  Boman  camp  of  Battledykes.  This  camp  is  of  veiy 
considerable  magnitude,  the  mean  length  of  it  being  about 
2970  feet,  and  its  mean  breadth  about  1850  feet.  It  encloses 
a  space  of  about  80  acres,  and  is  now  the  site  of  a  well-culti- 
vated farm  called  the  farm  of  Battledykes. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

FEARN. 

"Of  brownyis  and  of  bogillis  full  this  buke.'* 

Gavin  DougUu, 

Leaving  Finhaven  Castle  with  all  its  mystical  associations, 
we  cross  the  beautiful  Esk,  at  a  most  interesting  point  on  the 
great  north  road  to  Brechin ;  where,  to  the  left,  you  observe 
the  miller's  cozy  cottage,  with  the  old-fashioned  meal  mill, 
and  trimly  kept  garden,  snugly  reposing  on  the  verdant 
banks  of  the  musical  river ;  while  on  our  right,  the  luxuriant 
woods  of  Finhaven,  in  all  their  summer  beauty,  stretch  away 
in  ever-varying  Hnes  of  Ught  and  shade,  far  away  into  the 
shadowy  Stance. 

As  we  leisurely  wend  our  way  along  the  now  almost 
deserted  road,  let  us  admire  with  a  passionate  delight,  the 
long  and  beautiful  array  of  lofty  mountain  pines  which  line 
our  woodland  path,  and  listen  to  the  soft  yet  sad  and  weird- 
like music  which  issues  from  their  waving  boughs,  like  the 
sweet  angelic  notes  of  a  thousand  uSolian  harps  attuned  in 
harmony  with  the  "new  song,"  which  ever  reverberates 
along  the  golden  valleys,  and  over  the  radiant  mountain-tops 
of  the  empyreal  heavens.  What  charms  had  these  scenes, 
and  that  music  to  me  in  early  youth,  and  what  day-dreams  of 
prospective  fame  would  then  flash  before  my  dazzled  eyes, 
as  I  lay  beneath  the  friendly  shadow  of  these  stately  mountain 
pines,  which  so  lavishly  adorn  this  ancient  highway,  and  the 
banks  of  that  beautiful  river  I 

We  are  now  approaching  Feam,  a  parish  also  connected 
with  the  Linddays,  full  of  legendary  lore,  and  remarkable  as 
the  birth-place  of  men  of  genius. 


328  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

This  locality  seems  to  have  been  a  favourite  haunt  of  his 
Satanic  Majesty,  fdr  according  to  provincial  belief— 

"  There's  the  Brownie  o'  Ba'quharn, 
And  the  gaist  o'  Brandieden ; 
But  of  a'  the  places  i'  the  parish. 
The  deil  bums  up  the  Vayne." 

The  Noran  seems  also  to  have  been  a  favourite  haunt  of 
the  Water-kelpy,  who,  it  is  said,  with  a  view  to  deceive  the 
neighbours  as  to  the  depth  of  the  water  at  the  ford  of  Water- 
stone,  when  any  real  case  of  drowning  occurred  called  out — 

"  A'  the  men  of  Wateratone  ! — Come  here  !  come  here  ! " 

Nearly  opposite  Yayne  castle,  there  is  a  small  piece  of 
^ound  in  the  middle  of  a  moor,  called  the  "  Deil's  Hows," 
where  the  personage  after  whom  the  place  is  named,  has 
made,  within  the  memory  of  the  present  generation,  some 
wonderful  manifestations  of  his  presence.  From  this  place, 
according  to  the  old  Statistical  Account,  large  lumps  of  earth 
have  been  thrown  to  a  considerable  distance  without  any 
visible  cause ! 

There  are  some  wonderful  ghost  stories  connected  with 
Feme,  for  the  most  popular  here  of  all  the  spirits,  undoubt- 
edly are  the  ghaisls  and  the  brownies.  Here,  these  are 
considered  by  some  one  and  the  same,  but  in  other  quarters 
the  brownie  was  an  independent  and  entirely  different  being 
altogether,  and  similar  in  his  disposition  and  habits  to  the 
Lar  Familiaris  of  the  ancients.  He  was  equally  well  known 
in  the  classic  lands  of  Greece  and  Italy,  as  in  these  Northern 
latitudes.  The  brownie  seems  to  have  derived  his  name  from 
his  assumed  swarthy  complexion,  and  his  partiality  to  old 
ruinous  buildings,  and  the  solitary  banks  of  unfrequented 
rivers.  The  Shetland  brownie,  according  to  Jamieson, 
differed  in  his  habits  from  all  others,  assuming  ''  all  the  covet- 
ousness  of  the  most  interested  hireling,  instead  of  performing 
the  laborious  and  self-imposed  services  which  characterised 
his  fellows  in  other  quarters."    Having  at  present  more  to  do. 


FEARN.  329 

however,  with  these  mysterious  beings,  inhabiting  places  very- 
much  nearer  home,  I  shall  confine  myself,  in  the  meantime, 
to  their  peculiarities  as  evidenced  in  the  brownies  of  Feme. 

In  addition  to  the  leading  characteristics  of  Brownies  in 
general  the  more  prominent  of  these  being,  that  they  forded 
the  rivers  when  their  waters  were  at  their  highest,  and  that 
the  s(ige  femme  always  landed  safely  at  the  door  of  the  sick 
wife— the  brownies  of  Feme  are  connected  with  scenes  of 
cruelty  and  bloodshed.  This  peculiarity  would  seem  to  indi- 
cate that  the  brownie  and  the  ghaist  of  Feme,  were  one  and 
the  same.  The  Ghaist  Stane  is.  in  the  vicinity  of  the  church. 
To  this  piece  of  isolated  rock,  it  is  said  this  disturber  of  the 
peace  was  often  chained  as  a  fitting  punishment  for  his  mis- 
deeds, but  tradition  is  silent  as  to  the  brownie  being  simi- 
larly dealt  with,  which  strengthens  the  supposition  that  they 
were,  in  this  quarter  at  least,  generally  regarded  as  one  being. 

Equally  as  much  secluded  as  the  Castle  of  Yayne,  the  old 
fortalice  of  the  lords  of  Feme  in  Brandyden,  situate  between 
the  Kirk  and  Noranside,  was,  according  to  tradition,  occupied 
at  one  time,  by  a  sort  of  Bluebeard  who  punished  his  miser- 
able menials  with  the  utmost  cruelty.  One  of  his  vassals 
offended  this  cruel  lord  of  Feme  so  grievously,  that  his  blood- 
thirsty master  sentenced  him  to  die  the  death  of  a  traitor. 
Thrown  into  a  deep  dungeon  to  await  his  execution,  death  in 
some  mysterious  form,  reUeved  him  from  its  ignominy,  and  his 
body  was  secretly  buried  in  a  solitary  spot  betwixt  the  Castle 
and  Balquham.  From  that  time  the  laird's  conscience  never 
ceased  to  upbraid  him,  and  he  could  find  no  peace  in  his  house 
—the  doors  and  windows,  in  summer  and  winter,  flying  open  of 
their  own  accord,  and  ghostly  yells  and  piercing  screams  con- 
tinuing to  reverberate  at  all  hours  through  his  lonely 
dwelling. 

Worn  out  by  fear,  and  dejected  by  despondency,  the  laird 
at  last  died  mysteriously  and  unseen.  The  laird's  death  com- 
pletely changed  the  character  of  his  vassal's  spirit,  who  now 
seemed  to  delight  in  acts  of  usefulness,  especially  to  the  gude- 


330  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEOENDS. 

wife  of  the  farm  house  in  the  district  made  so  famous  in 

"  The  Ghaist  o'  Feme4en. " 

There  are  several  versions  of  the  tale,  but  I  prefer  that 

given  by  Mr  Jervise,  as  in  early  youth  I  often  heard  my  mother 

repeat  some  stanzas  of  this  ballad,  which  she  had  heard  recited 

by  our  parish  minister,  Dr  Lyon,  of  Glands.    Curiously  enough 

the  Kev.  Mr  Harris,  minister  of  Feme,  received  this  version 

from  the  worthy  doctor,  and  communicated  the  same  to  Air 

Jervise. 

Thb  Ghaist  o*  Febnb-den, 

There  liv'd  a  fanner  in  the  North, 

(I  canna  teU  you  when), 
But  just  he  had  a  famous  farm 

Nae  far  frae  Feme-den. 
I  doubtna,  sirs,  ye  a*  hae  heard, 

Baith  women  folks  an'  men, 
About  a  muckle,  fearfu'  ghaist — 
The  ghaist  o'  Feme-den  ! 

The  muckle  ghaist,  the  fearfu*  ghaist, 

The  ghaist  o'  Feme-den ; 
He  wad  hae  wrought  as  muckle  wark 
As  four-au'-twenty  men ! 

Gin  there  was  ony  strae  to  thrash, 

Or  ony  byres  to  dean, 
He  never  thocht  it  muckle  fash 

0'  workin'  late  at  e'en  ! 
Although  the  nioht  was  ne'er  sae  dark. 

He  scuddit  through  the  glen. 
An'  ran  an  errand  in  a  crack — 

The  ghaist  o'  Feme-den  ! 

Ane  nicht  the  mistresb  o'the  house 

Fell  sick  an'  like  to  dee, — 
"  0  !  for  a  oaimy  wily  wife !" 

Wi'  micht  an'  main,  cried  she  I 
The  nicht  was  dark,  an'  no  a  spark 

Wad  venture  through  the  glen. 
For  fear  that  they  micht  meet  the  ghaist — 

The  ghaist  o'  Feme-den  1 

But  ghaistie  stood  ahint  the  door, 

An'  hearin'  a'  the  strife, 
He  saw  though  they  had  men  a  score, 

They  soon  wad  tyne  the  wife  1 


FEARN.  331 


Aff  to  the  stable  then  he  goes. 

An'  saddles  the  auld  mare» 
An'  through  the  splash  an'  slash  he  ran 

As  fast  as  ony  hare  1 

He  chappit  at  the  Mammy's  door — 
Says  he — "mak'  haste  an'  rise  ; 

Put  on  your  claise  an'  come  wi'  me, 
An'  take  ye  nae  surprise  !" 
"  Where  am  I  gaun  ? "  quo'  the  wife, 

"  Nae  far,  but  through  the  glen — 

Ye're  wantit  to  a  farmer's  wife. 
No  far  frae  Feme-den  !" 

He's  taen  the  Mammy  by  the  hand 

An'  set  her  on  the  pad, 
Got  on  afore  her  an'  set  aft 

As  though  they  baith  were  mad  1 
They  climb'd  the  braes— they  lap  the  bums- 

An'  through  the  glush  did  plash : 
They  never  minded  stock  nor  stane, 

Nor  ony  kind  o'  trash  ! 

As  they  were  near  their  journey's  end 
An'  scudden  through  ^e  glen : 
'*  Oh  1 "  says  the  Mammy  to  the  ghaist, 
"  Are  we  come  near  the  den ! 
For  oh  I  I'm  feared  we  meet  the  g^iaist ! " 
"  Tush,  weesht,  ye  fool  1  "quo'  he ; 
"  For  waur  than  ye  ha'e  i'  your  arms, 
This  nicht  ye  winna  see  ! " 

When  they  cam  to  the  farmer's  door 

He  set  the  Mammy  down  : — 
*'  I've  left  the  house  but  ae  half  hour — 

I  am  a  clever  loon  1 
But  step  ye  in  an'  mind  the  wife 

An'  see  that  a'  gae  richt, 
An'  I  will  tak  ye  hame  again 

At  twal'  o'  clock  at  nicht  t  '* 

"  What  maks  yer  feet  sae  braid  ?  "  quo'  she, 
"  What  maks  yer  een  sae  sair  ? " 
Said  he, — "  I've  wander'd  mony  a  road 

Without  a  horse  or  mare ! 
But  gin  they  speir,  wha*  brought  ye  here, 

'Cause  they  were  scarce  o'  men  ; 
Just  tell  them  that  ye  rade  ahint 
The  ghaist  o'  Ferne-den  I 


n 


332  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Some  aver  that  the  Ghaist  was  never  seen  or  heard  of  from 
the  time  he  landed  the  "Mammy  wife,''  her  persistent  enquiries 
as  to  the  pecoliarity  of  the  fonn  of  his  feet  and  the  colour  of 
his  eyes,  having  caused  his  immediate  disappearance  from  the 
district  m  gudewife  of  Farmerton,  S^n  however 
saith,  had  a  male  child,  bom  on  the  same  night  that  the  Ghaist 
brought  the ''  Mammy  ^  to  her  house,  and  that  this  child  when 
he  grew  up  to  manhood  became  celebrated  for  courage  and 
valour.  As  the  brownie  still  continued  his  midnight  wander- 
ings, and  no  one  daring  to  ''speak"  to  the  spirit  of  the  murdered 
vassal,  this  youth,  when  returning  home  one  dark  night 
accidentally  met  the  Ghaist,  and  boldly  demanded  to  know  the 
cause  of  his  wanderings : — 

"About  hixDsel  wi  hazell  staff. 
He  made  ane  roundlie  score ; 
And  said,  *  My  lad,  in  name  o*  Gyde, 
What  doe  you  wander  for  ? ' " 

The  Ghaist  replied  by  confessing  the  oflFences  of  his  life,  and 
thereafter  immediately  vanished.  He  was  never  more  seen  in 
the  parish  of  Feme ! 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

CARESTON  CASTLE. 

From  love  of  art,  and  taste  withal, 

Some  sweetly  hallow  every  scene. 
But  for  Vandalic  plunder,  all 

Must  execrate  the  name  of  Skene. 

Beluctantly  bidding  adieu  to  the  mystical  and  bewitching 
Feme^  we  shall  now  pay  a  visit  to  the  ancient  and  interesting 
Castle  of  Careston,  a  short  distance  to  the  eastward,  on  what 
may  be  still  termed  the  braes  of  Angus. 

The  origin  of  the  name  of  Careston,  or  Caraldstone  is  in- 
volved in  much  obscurity.  Some  authorities  trace  the  deriva- 
tion to  the  Ossianic  hero,  Carril ;  and  others,  to  the  now  disused 
Celtic  word,  Carald,  denoting  the  quality,  red.  Others,  again, 
assume  from  an  expression  that  occurs  in  a  decreet  of  valuation 
of  the  teinds  in  1758,  viz.,  "the  lands  and  barony  of  Caraldstone, 
formerly  called  Fuirdstone,  with  the  tower,  fortalice,  manor 
places  "  &c,  that  Careston  was  known  at  one  time  by  the  name 
of  Fuirdstone. 

The  more  probable  source,  however,  appears  to  be  that  which 
is  indicated  in  the  preface  to  the  Begistrum  de  Aberbrothic : — 
«' A  person  of  the  name  of  Bricius  occurs  in  very  early  charters 
as  'judex'  of  Angus,  probably  holding  his  office  under  the  great 
Earls.  In  1219,  Adam  was  judex  of  the  Earl's  Court.  Some 
six  years  later  he  became  judex  of  the  King's  Court,  and  his 
brother  Keraldus  succeeded  to  his  office  in  the  Court  of  the 
Earl ;  for  in  the  year  1227,  we  find  the  brothers  acting  together, 
and  styled  respectively  'judex*  of  Angus,  and  'judex'  of  our 
Lord  the  King.  The  dwelling  of  Keraldus  received  the  name  of 


334  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

*  Eeraldiston/  now  Caraldstoun;  and  the  office  of  judex  becom- 
ing heritable,  and  taking  its  Scotch  title  of  *  Dempster/  gave 
name  to  the  family  who  for  many  generations  held  the  landi^ 
of  Caraldstoun  and  perfonned  the  office  of  Dempster  to  the 
Parliaments  of  Scotland." 

The  Noran  and  the  South  Esk  flow  and  unite  together  in 
this  parish.  The  water  of  the  Noran  is  celebrated  for  its 
purity,  caused,  doubtless,  by  its  flowing  over  a  bed  of  rock  and 
gravel  There  is  a  tradition,  that  one  of  our  Queens,  in  olden 
time,  washed  her  curtch  or  cap  in  its  stream,  near  the  place 
where  the  farm-house  of  Nether  Careston  is  now  situated,  and 
pronounced  the  Noran  to  be  the  clearest  stream  in  Scotland. 

The  parish  is  rich  in  botanical  treasures.  In  the  meadows 
and  moors,  in  the  fields  and  woods,  and  on  the  banks  of  the 
Noran  and  Esk,  many  fine  specimens  of  the  Orchis  Moris,  Chrys- 
anthemum Segetum,  Geranium  Sylvaticum,  Anemone  Nemo- 
rosa^  Narcissus  Pseudo-Narcissus,  Spirara  Ulmaria,  and  Ilosa 
Eglanteria^  are  to  be  found  in  great  abundance.  That  very  rare 
plant,  Straiictes  Aliodes,  or  the  fresh  water  soldier,  discovered 
by  the  Eev.  Mr.  Haldane  of  Eangoldrum,  is  to  be  found  in  a 
pool  at  Bracklawbum. 

Careston  is  said  to  be  the  least  parish  in  Angus-shire,  both 
as  regards  extent  and  population,  and  the  fifth  least  in  the 
Kingdom.  Although  the  churchyard  is  correspondingly  small, 
the  tombstones — until  George  Skene,  the  late  proprietor, 
sacrilegiously  had  them  all  thrown  from  the  graveyard  to  be 
afterwards  either  broken  to  pieces,  or  used  for  drain  covers — 
were  at  one  time  very  numerous  and  interesting  in  an  anti- 
quarian point  of  view.  A  few  of  these  stones  were,  however, 
rescued  from  oblivion,  and  placed  again  in  the  churchyard  after 
this  Yandalic  laird's  death.  The  inscription  on  one  of  these  is 
as  follows : — 

«  This  stone  doth  hold  these  corps  of  minei 
While  I  lie  buried  here ; 
iVone  thall  molest  nor  vfrong  this  ttone, 
Except  my  freinds  that  near. 


GARESTON  CASTLE.  335 

My  flesh  and  bones  lyes  in  Earth's  womb, 
Wintill  Judgment  do  appear, 
And  then  I  shall  be  raised  again 
To  meet  my  Saviour  dear." 

As  we  have  seen,  the  family  of  Dempster  were  the  first 
recorded  proprietors  of  Gareston,  and  this  surname  was 
assumed  by  the  lairds  of  Careston  before  1360.  The 
Lindsays  became  connected  with  Careston  in  the  person 
of  Sir  Henry  Lindsay  of  Kinfauns,  afterwards  thirteenth  Earl 
of  Crawford,  about  the  close  of  the  sixteenth  century.  The 
Camegies  of  Southesk  held  the  barony  thereafter,  and  till 
1707,  at  which  time,  Sir  John  Stewart  of  GrandtuUy  and 
Murthly,  succeeded  the  Camegies  by  purchase.  Thirteen 
years  aft^erwards,  Careston  again  changed  hands,  having  been 
purchased  in  1720,  by  Major  Skene,  a  cadet  of  the  old  family 
of  that  ilk. 

There  is  a  tradition,  that  the  first  who  bore  the  surname  of 
Skene,  was  a  younger  son  of  Donald  of  the  Isles,  "  who  saved 
Malcolm  U.  from  being  torn  to  pieces  by  an  enraged  wolf  that 
chased  him  from  the  forest  of  Kilblein  in  Marr  to  the  bum  of 
Broadtach,  now  within  the  boundary  of  the  town  of  Aberdeen. 
At  this  point,  the  wolf  came  up  with  the  King,  and  was  just 
about  to  spring  upon  him,  when  the  gallant  youth,  wrapping 
his  plaid  about  his  left  arm,  and  rushing  in  betwixt  the  King 
and  the  wolf,  thrust  his  left  arm  into  the  wolf's  mouth,  and 
drawing  his  skene — which  in  the  Gaelic  language  signifies  a 
dirk  or  knife— struck  it  to  the  wolf's  heart,  and  then  cut  off 
its  head  and  presented  it  to  King  Malcolm." 

The  most  popular  of  the  Skene  family  in  Angus-shire,  was 
the  eldest  son  of  Mrs  Skene,  who  succeeded  to  Careston 
through  her  marriage  to  her  cousin-german,  the  laird  of 
Skene.  Though  a  person  of  considerable  learning  and  ability, 
Skene  is  said  to  have  been  a  man  of  greater  Bacchanalianism, 
fairly  out-doing,  in  his  deep  carousals,  his  friend  and  neigh- 
bour, of  similar  propensities,  the  '^  rebel  laird,"  Camegie  of 
Balnamoon,  with  whom  he  usually  associated  in  his  midnight 


336       STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

orgies.  He  had  spent  a  good  deal  of  his  time  on  the 
Continent,  where,  like  the  "  Black  Earl  of  Southesk,"  already 
alluded  to,  it  was  believed 

*'  He  learned  the  art  that  none  could  name, 
In  Padua,  beyond  the  sea." 

He  was  an  amateur  musician  of  considerable  skill,  and  the 
peasantry  believed  him  to  have  the  power  of  making  his 
favourite  instrument,  the  bagpipe,  play  in  the  castle  while  he 
peregrinated  the  neighbourhood,  or  walked  among  the  fields  I 
The  eldest  daughter  of  Mrs  Skene,  married  Alexander,  third 
Earl  of  Fife,  in  whose  family  the  lands  of  Careston  remained 
until  1871,  when  they  were  acquired  by  John  Adamson,  Esq., 
of  Falcon  House,  Blairgowrie. 

The  Castle  of  Careston  has  undergone  important  alterations, 
and  received  considerable  additions,  during  the  many  changes 
in  its  proprietorship.  The  centre  is  the  oldest  portion  of  the 
castle,  and  is  thus  described  by  Ochterlony  : — "  A  great  and 
most  delicat  house,  well-built,  brave  lights,  and  of  a  most 
excellent  contrivance,  without  debait  the  best  gentleman's 
house  in  the  shyre ;  extraordinare  much  planting,  delicate 
yards  and  gardens,  with  stone  walls,  ane  excellent  avenue  with 
ane  range  of  ash  trees  on  every  side,  ane  excellent  arbour,  for 
length  and  breadth,  nane  in  the  country  like  it  The  house 
built  by  Sir  Harry  Lindsay  of  Kinfaines,  afterwards  Earl  of 
Crawford." 

Two  centuries  have  elapsed  since  Guynd  gave  this  graphic 
description  of  the  castle,  during  which  time  the  avenue 
has  been  completely  rooted  out,  the  arbour  allowed  to  fall  into 
disrepair,  and  much  of  the  fine  sculpture  either  destroyed  or 
carried  off  to  decorate  some  more  favoured  mansion.  The 
house  has  been  long  tenantless  and  uncared  for,  and  the 
consequence  is  that  some  of  the  finest  ornaments  in  the 
garden  and  elsewhere  are  fast  crumbling  to  pieces. 

The  internal  decorations  of  the  castle,  you  observe,  are  better 
preserved,  and  some  fine  sculpture  still  adorns  the  old  staircase. 


CARESTON  CASTLE.  337 

the  dining  and  drawing  rooms,  in  which  heraldic  bearings 
and  armorial  groups  predominate.  A  fine  sculpture  of  the 
Eoyal  Arms  of  Scotland,  surrounded  by  military  trophies, 
adorns  the  mantel-piece  of  the  old  drawing-room,  under  which 
a  tablet  bears  the  following  inscription,  in  allusion,  no  doubt, 
to  the  first  Earl  of  Crawford;  and  his  marriage  with  the 
daughter  of  King  Robert  II. : — 

"  This  .  Honoris  .  Sikoe 
And  .  FiovBiT .  Thbofhe  .  Bon — 

SVLD  .  PySB  .  ASPYBINO  .  SpB£ 

Ins  .  And  .  Mabtial  .  Mynd 

To  .  ThRVST  .  YaIB  .  FORTONE 
PWRTH  .  &  .  in  .  HiR  .  SCORNE 

Believb  .  IN  .  Faithe 

OvR .  Fait  .  God  .  Hbs  .  Assiond." 

Although  not  in  any  degree  ornamental  in  its  construction, 
the  Castle  of  Careston  has  all  the  ancient  grandeur  of  a 
baronial  residence ;  and  the  present  proprietor  has  it  now  in 
his  power  to  render  it  one  of  the  finest  and  most  interesting 
mansions  in  the  county  of  Angus. 

The  tradition  of  Jock  Barefoot,  connected  with  this  parish, 
has  already  been  noticed.  There  is  another  of  a  fFhite  Lady 
who  was  wont  to  perambulate  the  district  when  the  vast 
forests  covered  to  such  a  great  extent  these  Northern  parishes. 

This  Lady  must  have  belonged  to  the  mild  type  of  her 
genus,  for  she  has  left  no  trace  of  her  deeds  either  of  good  or 
evil. 

The  greatest  historical  event  connected  with  the  district 
was  the  encampment  of  the  Marquis  of  Montrose  and  his 
followers  in  front  of  the  castle,  on  the  6th  of  April  1645, 
after  the  storming  of  the  town  of  Dundee. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

MAULESDEN. 

Sunny  memorieB  come  again, 
Mellowing  present  grief  and  pain  ; 
Hark  I  the  well-known  early  strain — 
A  long  time  ago  I 

We  are  now  entering  the  gateway  to  Maulesden.  How  fresh 
you  feel  the  bahny  air,  redolent  with  the  glad  music  of  the 
happy  birds,  in  this  the  spring-flush  of  their  joyous  life  of  love 
and  song.  Disporting  on  the  green  sward  on  either  side,  the 
young  lambs  playfully  usher  in  their  happy  yet,  alas  !  precari- 
.  ous  and  short  existence.  There  are  lowings  of  kine  in  the 
valleys,  and  bleatings  of  sheep  on  the  hills ;  and  to  complete 
the  grand  diapason  of  Nature's  resurrection  anthem  of  praise, 
comes  softly,  like  an  angel's  song,  the  low  sweet  hymning  of 
the  musical  Esk,  as  it  now  flows  in  winding  beauty  at  our 
feet. 

As  we  delightedly  wander  from  terrace  to  terrace,  with  their 
trimmed  beds  of  beautiful  flowers,  and  rare  rose-trees  at 
appreciative  intervals,  and  casting  our  eye  in  every  direction, 
could  we  imagine  any  scene  so  limited  in  extent,  combining 
in  such  a  high  degree  of  excellence,  every  element  of  the  soft, 
the  romantic,  and  the  beautiful.  Here,  stately  river,  luxuri- 
ant valley,  wooded  hill,  blend  in  almost  unparalleled  beauty 
to  form  one  of  those  natural  pictures  of  peaceful  repose,  on 
which  the  eye  loves  to  linger,  and  the  memory  to  dwell. 

The  Burghal  hills  immediately  opposite,  though  not  of  great 
height,  are  finely  wooded  to  their  summits,  with  variegated 
green  fields  peeping  out  cheerfully  and  hopefully  between. 
The  beautiful  Esk  comes  musically  out  amongst  the  foliage  on 


1 


MAULESDEN.  339 

our  right,  flowing  like  a  line  of  beauty,  peacefully  and  lovingly 
by  and  disappearing  quietly  on  our  left  beneath  the  one-arched 
Stannochy  Bridge.  Very  beautiful  the  many  winding  walks 
along  the  banks  of  the  Esk  terminating  often  in  those  quiet 
foliage-shrouded,  cozy  nooks,  shut  out  from  the  cares  and  toils 
of  the  busy  world  without,  and  surrounded  with  a  balmy 
atmosphere  of  song,  which  lovers  in  the  exuberance  of  their 
imaginative  desires,  so  often  vainly  picture  in  their  dreams, 
but  which  all  true  poets,  ever  in  their  reality,  so  goldenly 
value,  and  rapturously  love  so  well.  The  murmuring  burns 
in  the  wooded  dens  musically  meet  in  the  picturesque  orna- 
mental pond  with  its  fountain  and  waterfall,  and  finally 
fall  into  the  £sk  in  a  miniature  cascade  of  great  beauty. 

Some  splendid  specimens  of  fir  adorn  the  terraces  and  walks. 
Near  to  the  house  on  the  east,  you  observe,  is  one  specimen 
marked  "1861,  Abies  Douglass  ii. :  200  feet:" — meaning, 
doubtless,  that  this  is  the  probable  height  to  which  the  tree 
may  grow. 

The  original  house  of  Maulesden  was  built  about  the  latter 
end  of  the  last  century.  It  was  soon  afterwards  acquired  by 
Mr  Binny,  who  made  some  additions  to  the  old  pile,  which  did 
not,  however,  add  much  to  its  beauty.  It  was  then  acquired 
by  the  Honourable  William  Made  about  1854,  who  built 
the  present  fine  mansion,  in  the  old  Scotch  Baronial  Style 
after  elaborate  designs  by  Mr  Bryce  of  Edinburgh.  The  estate 
came  into  the  possession  of  the  present  proprietor,  Thomas 
Hunter  Cox,  Esq.,  of  Duncarse  in  1871.  Mr  Cox  is  at  present 
President  of  the  Dundee  Chamber  of  Commerce,  and  is  one  of 
the  members  of  the  well-known  firm  of  Messrs  Cox  Brothers, 
of  Dundee  and  Calcutta.  This  family  can  trace  an  unbroken 
connection  with  the  staple  trade  of  Forfarshire  for  the  last  two 
hundred  years,  being  very  much  farther  back  in  point  of 
time,  than  any  traces  of  other  county  mercantile  pedigrees 
extend. 

The  mansion-house  of  Maulesden  is  one  of  those  pleasing 
and  graceftd  structures  which  one  likes  the  better  the  longer 


340  STRATHMOBE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

the  eye  is  accnstomed  to  its  quiet,  unpretending  beauty.  The 
gardens,  sloping  gently  down  to  the  river  on  the  south,  are 
extensive,  and  laid  out  with  great  artistic  skill  and  natural 
effect. 

When  a  student  at  the  Academy  of  Montrose,  I  often 
visited  this  neighbourhood  where  I  had  some  near  and  dear 
relations,  and  spent  amongst  its  romantic  surroundings,  some 
of  the  happiest  days  of  my  youth.  On  re-visiting  these 
scenes  in  1859,  after  an  absence  of  many  years,  I  could  not 
forbear,  while  standing  once  more  on  the  Stannochy  Bridge, 
beneath  which  flowed  softly  as  of  yore,  my  favourite  Esk,  to 
give  vent  to  the  mingled  feelings  of  pain  and  pleasure,  which 
then  alternately  agitated  and  soothed  my  troubled  breast : — 

Ths  Bell  In  The  Old  Brechin  Toweb  Struck  One. 

The  beU  in  the  old  Brechin  tower  stmok  one, 

Like  a  chime  from  th'  eternal  shore, 
As  away  in  the  golden  bright  sanshine, 

I  rambled  in  days  of  yore. 

A-down  the  long  straggling  Tenements  grim, 

Or  high  up  the  dark-wooded  ndge. 
Along  by  the  banks  of  the  bonnie  South  Esk, 

Where  spans  the  high  Stannochy  bridge. 

Or  musing  in  mystic  fond  dreamings 

In  the  old  churchyard  of  Albar, 
With  no  care,  or  sorrow,  or  weeping, 

The  joy  of  my  young  heart  to  mar. 

While  happy  loved  voices  soft  chiming, 

Filled  the  air  with  melodious  sweet  joy, 
Tumultuously  joyous  1  O,  happy  !  how  happy  ! 

The  free,  fair,  and  bright  poet  boy  1 

The  bell  in  the  old  grey  tower  strikes  one, 

Alas  !  on  a  far  southern  shore, 
Its  well-known  soft  chimes  came  fond  in  my  dreamings, 

Ab  I  heard  thqm  in  days  of  yore. 

And  the  voices  I  loved  vibrated  the  ear, 

Like  distant  music  sweet ; 
Yes  I  I  heard  the  old  sQvery  laughter  clear, 

And  the  pattering  of  restless  feet. 


MAULESDEN.  341 

In  an  atmosphere  blest  of  bright  young  love, 

The  songs  of  my  youth  I  sang. 
Along  by  the  banks  of  the  musical  Esk, 

The  wild- wood  echoes  rang. 

The  bell  in  the  old  grey  tower  strikes  one, 

And  I  wander,  how  happy !  once  more, 
Along  by  the  one-arched  high  Stannochy  bridge, 

My  heart  e'en  as  green  as  of  yore. 

And  I  gaze  on  the  scenes  so  touchingly  beautiful, 

Maulesden,  the  uplands,  the  stream. 
And  feel  that  I  see  in  reality  true, 

And  not  through  a  mystic  wild  dream. 

But  where.  Oh  I  where  gone  those  voices  so  joyous. 

That  tuned  my  young  heart-strings  to  love  ? 
The  woodland,  the  river,  the  birds  soft  reply. 

In  a  musical  chorus — "  Above  ! " 

Oh,  God  !  have  I  lived  e'en  too  long,  and  all  sadly. 

Now  reckoning  the  slow  fleeting  hours  ? 
Hush  !  hush,  widowed  soul,  live  on,  they're  all  happy  gone 

To  a  better  world  than  ours. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  REOOONITION. 

Since  young  life's  mom  all  crimaoned  gay 

With  hues  of  rosy  gold. 
When  fairy  dreams  of  splendour  rich 

The  future  bright  unroll'd ; 

IVe  roamed  afar,  but  now  return, 

My  wanderings  to  bewail ; 
For  oh  I  there's  not  a  spot  on  earth. 

Like  my  own  native  yale. 

"The  world  appears  all  bright  and  beautiful  to  you  now; 
what  will  be  its  aspect  twenty  years  hence)  Dark  and 
troubled  days  will  come  when  least  expected.  You  cannot 
always  walk  amidst  the  golden  sunshine,  in  blissful  and  un- 
troubled joy.  May  the  Most  High  be  your  hiding-place  from 
the  storm,  and  your  covert  from  the  tempest.  In  all  your 
trials  and  sorrows  may  He  temper  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb. 
Fare-thee-well  1" 

Such  were  the  solemn  and  impressive  words  uttered  feel- 
ingly by  the  venerable  Dr  Lyon,  our  parish  minister,  as  he 
bade  me  an  affectionate  adieu  at  the  gateway  of  the  manse  oi 
Glamis,  when  I  left,  in  early  youth,  my  native  Howe,  to  push 
my  fortune  in  the  great,  seething,  restless  world  beyond. 

Twenty  years  very  quickly  passed  away.  It  was  on  a 
dreary  day  in  December  18 — ,  the  snow  falling  fast,  that  I 
landed  from  the  steamer  at  Dundee,  and,  being  anxious  to 
proceed  immediately  on  my  journey  homeward,  I  started  on 
foot  late  in  the  afternoon,  no  railways  then,  or  now,  existing 


THE  RECOGNITION.  343 

in  that  part  of  the  country,  the  caravan  having  started  for  the 
county  town  some  two  hours  previously.  Having  ordered  my 
luggage  to  be  sent  on  after  me  the  next  day,  I  had  no  encum- 
brance to  retard  my  progress,  which  had  been  so  unexpectedly 
rapid,  that  I  had  arrived  at  the  bye-road  by  Lumleyden 
leading  to  my  native  glen,  much  sooner  than  I  had  antici- 
pated. 

No  sooner  had  I  diverged  from  the  main  road  than  the 
snovr  ceased  to  fall,  and  the  moon  shone  out  in  all  her 
splendour.  The  frost  set  in  sharp  and  severe,  and  the  night 
became  so  clear  that  objects  at  a  considerable  distance  were 
distinctly  visible.  The  road  lay  along  a  wild  and  desolate 
moor,  now  thickly  covered  with  the  deep,  crisp  snow,  no 
sound  of  beast  or  bird  breaking  the  solemn  silence  which 
reigned  around.  Nature,  to  me,  is  ever  more  grand  and  im- 
pressive in  her  silence  than  in  her  stormy,  wild,  and  tempestu- 
ous moods.  The  latter  rouse  our  fear  and  terror ;  the  former 
forces  us  to  retire  within  ourselves,  producing  sedative 
contemplation  and  cahn  reflection,  so  that  we  imperceptibly 
seem  linked  to  the  spiritual  world,  partaking  of  its  strange, 
undefined,  yet  sublime  mysteries. 

In  my  present  circumstances,  returning  to  my  native  strath 
after  a  long  absence  of  twenty  years,  the  most  natural  train 
of  thought  that  could  fill  the  mind  was  to  ruminate  and  reflect 
on  the  events  which  had  taken  place,  and  the  scenes  through 
which  I  had  passed  in  these,  the  most  eventful  years  of  a 
man's  existence.  The  feelings  which  first  arose  in  my  mind 
were  just  those  which  most  men,  in  the  meridian  of  life, 
primarily  experience  on  casting  a  retrospective  glance  at  the 
past,  before  calnUy  reviewing  the  reasons  why  such  and 
such  things  had  taken  place.  I  mused,  for  instance,  on  the 
disappointments  of  life,  the  teachery  of  friends,  and  the 
malignity  of  enemies,  just  as  if  there  had  not  existed  any 
overt  acts  on  my  part  which  might,  to  some  extent  at  least, 
have  been  the  secret  cause  of  these  misfortunes.  And,  with- 
out   philosophising    too    much,   the    world   and   I  became 


344  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

gradually  better  Mends,  and  I  unfeignedly  and  repentingly 
felt  that  human  nature  was  not  so  bad  after  all. 

The  nearer  we  approach  the  unseen  world  beyond,  the 
deeper  will  be  our  abasement  of  self,  and  the  higher  the 
actions  of  our  contemporaries  will  rise  in  our  estimation,  and 
this  very  feeling  of  humiliation  as  to  our  own  actions,  and 
generosity  and  charitableness  as  to  the  doings  of  others,  does, 
in  very  truth,  bring  more  real,  pure,  and  lasting  satisfaction 
to  the  mind  than  if  we,  Pharisaic-like,  only  thought  contemptu- 
ously of  our  brethren  of  mankind,  exclaiming,  in  the  fulness  of 
our  haughty  pride  and  self-righteousness,  '  God,  I  thank  thee, 
I  am  not  as  other  men,  or  even  as  this  publican.'  After  some 
reflection,  therefore,  and  after  having  calmly  reviewed  the 
events  of  the  last  twenty  years,  I  had  worked  myself  very 
comfortably  up  to  the  conclusion  that  the  world  was  not  so 
base  as  some  men,  in  their  gloomy  moods,  would  have  us 
believe  it  to  be,  but  that  much  elevation  of  thought,  much 
purity  of  desire,  and,  consequently,  much  real  happiness,  were 
felt  and  enjoyed  by  the  fallen  sons  of  Adam,  in  this  sublunary 
state  of  existence,  preparatory  to,  and  in  earnest  of,  that  purer, 
higher,  and  holier  state  of  being  on  which  the  immortal  part 
of  man  enters  definitely  at  death. 

Pursuing  this  train  of  pleasing  reflection,  I  had  arrived 
very  nearly  at  the  spot  where  my  father,  twenty  long  years  be- 
fore, bade  his  darling  boy  farewell  Another  train  of  thought 
now  took  possession  of  my  mind.  What  events  had  happened ; 
what  trials ;  what  sorrows ;  what  bereavements ;  what  secret 
corroding  griefs  had  overwhelmed  the  spirits  and  wrung  the 
hearts  of  those  dear  to  me  as  life  itself;  for  a  long  period  had 
elapsed  since  I  had  received  any  intelligence  from  home,  and 
I  was  now  returning,  unknown  to  my  friends,  to  my  paternal 
hearth. 

Not  naturally  superstitious,  I  do  not  easily  give  way  to  pre> 
sentiments  of  any  kind,  but,  in  spite  of  all  my  philosophical 
efibrts  to  the  contrary,  a  strange,  indescribable  sadness  came 
over  my  spirits,  which,  deepening  every  instant,  spell-bound 


THE  RECOGNITION.  345 

me  to  the  spot,  although  with  very  different  feelings  to  those 
which,  twenty  years  before,  had  so  depressed  and  withered  the 
heart  emotions  of  my  soul. 

Just  at  this  instant  a  muircock  flapped  his  wings  immedi- 
ately above  me,  and  looking  across  the  moor,  I  imagined  I  saw 
within  a  short  distance  of  me  the  figure  of  a  man  as  if  in  the 
act  of  removing  the  snow  from  the  ground.  This  incident 
changed  at  once  the  current  of  thought  in  which  I  had  been 
indulging,  and,  curious  to  know  the  cause  of  such  a  strange 
proceeding,  I  at  once  boldly  proceeded  to  the  spot  where  the 
strange  unknown  seemed  so  busily  at  work.  Whether  he  had 
observed  me  approaching,  or  whether  his  object  had  been 
accomplished,  I  know  not;  but  as  I  approached  the  figure 
muffled  itself  up  in  a  flowing  mantle,  and  strode  across  the 
heath  in  the  direction  of  the  little  hostelrie  at  the  opening 
in  the  glen. 

I  had  now  reached  the  spot  where  I  was  certain  I  had  seen 
the  singular  apparition,  and,  all  at  once,  came  upon — ^a  grave ! 
The  snow  had  been  cleared  away,  and  the  black  earth  laid 
carefully  up  on  either  side,  while  a  gardner's  spade  lay 
partially  concealed  amongst  the  snow.  Ruminating  on  the 
strange,  yet  still  mysterious  occurrence,  I  mechanically  took  up 
the  spade,  on  the  handle  of  which  were  distinctly  visible  the 
letters  "J.  H.,"  cut  rudely  with  some  blunt  instrument. 
When  I  looked  round  the  figure  had  disappeared ;  but,  as  the 
hostelrie  lay  in  my  way,  I  resolved,  if  possible,  to  solve  the 
mystery  by  entering  the  house  on  some  pretext  or  another, 
which  would  lull  any  suspicions  my  sudden  appearance  might 
otherwise  create. 

This  house  stood,  and  still  stands,  alone,  in  one  of  the  most 
uninviting,  wild  and  desolate  spots  which  it  is  possible  for 
the  imagination  to  conceive.  On  the  one  side  stretches  the 
long  dreary  moor,  skirted  on  the  far  eastern  extremity  by  a 
dark,  thickly-planted  [pine  wood ;  while  on  the  other,  and 
immediately  behind  the  house,  rise  some  bleak,  barren  hills, 
on  which,  in  summer  time,  a  few  Highland  sheep  manage  to 


346  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

pick  up  a  scanty  subsistence.  To  the  north,  and  within  a  few 
hundred  yards  of  the  house,  a  deep,  rocky  gorge  opens  up  an 
outlet  to  the  sequestered  glen  of  Ogilvy  beyond.  To  this  lone 
and  comfortless  hostelrie,  therefore,  did  my  hurried  footsteps 
now  lead  me.  Arrived  at  the  door,  not  hesitating  for  a  moment, 
I  entered  without  waiting  to  be  admitted.  On  approaching 
what  appeared  to  be  the  kitchen,  I  impatiently  asked  for 
some  refreshment,  when  a  rough,  stalwart  fellow,  who  appeared 
to  be  the  landlord,  answered,  rather  gruffly — 

"What's  yerwulH" 

I  repeated  my  request,  adding,  somewhat  sharply,  that, 
being  rather  cold,  the  sooner  he  could  let  me  have  a  drop  of 
mountain-dew  the  better. 

While  Boniface  was  engaged  in  filling  the  gill-stoup,  I  with- 
out any  ceremony,  seated  myself  beside  the  blazing  ingle,  and, 
turning  round,  observed,  for  the  first  time,  a  stout,  strapping 
fellow,  in  the  homely  garb  of  a  comfortable  countryman,  seated 
at  the  extreme  end  of  the  room.  His  features  seemed  not  un- 
familiar to  me,  and,  accosting  him  with  a  "  Good  evening,  sir," 
received  a  courteous  reply,  in  the  soft  tones  of  a  voice  which 
at  once  awakened  all  the  feelings  and  sympathies  of  my  youth. 
Asking  him  to  partake  of  my  hospitality,  I  pondered  over  the 
circumstance  until  my  recollection  of  early  companions  became 
so  distinctly  defined  that  I  at  last  fixed  on  one  as  being  the 
boy  to  the  man  who  now  sat  beside  me. 

Forgetting  altogether,  for  the  moment,  the  mysterious 
circumstance  which  had  attracted  me  to  enter  the  house,  and 
all  the  well-springs  of  my  heart  now  gushing  out  in  tender 
emotions,  I  hastily  put  the  question  whether  he  belonged  to 
the  village  of  Glamis»  Evidently  thrown  off  his  guard,  he  at 
once  replied  that  Glands  was  his  native  village,  but  that  he 
had  removed  to  a  neighbouring  parish  many  years  ago. 
Feeling  assured  I  was  on  the  right  track,  yet  without  the  least 
idea  as  to  the  result  to  which  my  enquiries  might  lead,  I 
abruptly  asked  whether  he  knew  one  of  the  name  of  James 
Howden,  who,  twenty  years  ago,  was  a  pupil  of  good  Mr 


THE  RECOGNITION.  347 

Cowper,  the  parish  schoohnaster.  His  colour  changed  a  little 
at  the  abruptness  of  the  question ;  but,  quickly  rallying,  he 
laughingly  replied  that  he  certainly  did  know  such  a  person, 
for  he  had  known  him  all  his  life.  In  answer  to  some  further 
queries,  he  unwittingly  stated  that  my  youthful  companion 
had  gone  to  learn  the  trade  of  a  gardener ;  but,  as  if  suddenly 
recollecting  himself,  he  changed  the  conversation  by  ordering 
the  landlord  to  replenish  the  glasses  at  his  expense. 

The  whole  scene  of  the  grave,  the  spade  with  its  mysterious 
initials,  the  disappearance  of  the  apparition  in  the  direction 
of  the  hostelrie,  flashed  at  once  on  my  mind,  and  a  cold, 
clammy  sweat  stood  in  big  drops  on  my  brow.  I  scanned  the 
stranger's  dress  of  dark  corduroy,  with  a  huge  Highland  plaid 
thrown  over  his  brawny  shoulders,  and  then  the  expression  of 
Ms  fine  Eoman  features  and  florid  complexion,  and  was 
puzzled  to  reconcile  my  suspicions  on  the  one  hand  with  my 
extremely  favourable  impressions  on  the  other.  Noticing  my 
sudden  abstraction,  he  jocularly  alluded  to  the  effects  of  Glen- 
livet  punch  in  loosening  the  tongue,  and  causing  good  brother- 
hood. Happening  to  turn  my  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the 
landlord,  it  occurred  to  me  there  was  some  secret  free-masonry 
going  on  between  him  and  his  guest ;  but  before  I  had  time 
to  scan  the  actions  of  the  other,  the  latter  hurriedly  glanced  at 
his  watch,  and,  taking  up  the  ponderous  stick  which  lay  be- 
fore him  on  the  table,  he  hastily  bade  me  ''  Good  night,"  and 
left  the  house. 

Having  paid  my  reckoning,  and  without  any  courtesies 
passing  between  me  and  the  landlord,  I  followed  my  com- 
panion to  the  door.  The  snow  was  again  falling  thickly,  and 
I  soon  lost  all  trace  of  him  among  the  blinding  drift.  I  was 
now  proceeding  in  the  direction  by  which  I  had  come,  and, 
although  anxious  to  reach  my  destination  as  soon  as  possible, 
a  strange,  increasing  curiosity  impelled  me  to  endeavour  to 
unriddle  the  enigma  and  solve  the  mystery. 

Attentively  listening,  as  I  went  along,  to  catch  the  faintest 
sound,  I  now  distinctly  heard  the  snortings  of  a  horse,  and 


348  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

almost  immediately  afterwards  the  voices  of  men,  as  if  in  angiy 
conversation.  I  knew  from  the  distinctness  of  the  sounds  I 
could  not  be  far  distant;  and,  hastily  proceeding  in  the 
direction  from  which  they  evidently  proceeded,  I  tremulously 
heard  the  following  colloquy  : — 

"  Is  it  you,  James  Howden  V* 

"  Yes,  old  sinner ;  and  for  thee  there  is  no  escape." 

"  There's  my  purse.    But  it's  not  money  you  want  V* 

"No.     I  want  that  which  I  shall  now  have." 

"  What  1 " 

"  Your  life !  Your  grave  is  already  dug,  and  waiting  for 
your  corpse ! " 

"  Oh  God !    Have  mercy  ! " 

The  snow  suddenly  ceased,  and  the  moon  shining  brightly 
again,  I  stood,  very  much  to  my  surprise  and  amazement, 
witliin  a  few  yards  of  the  actors  in  this  strange  drama.  One,  an 
old  man,  with  long  white  silvery  hair,  clad  in  the  white  great- 
coat and  topboots  of  a  farmer,  on  horseback ;  the  other,  my 
veritable  companion  of  the  hostelrie,  with  his  huge  stick  raised 
high  above  his  head,  and  in  the  act  of  felling  the  farmer  to  the 
earth. 

"  Villain  ! "  I  shouted,  "  you  are  known ! '' 

"Blasted  eaves-dropper !"  he  savagely  replied,  "thy  know- 
ledge of  me  will  not  avail  thee  much."  But,  quickly  drawing 
my  stilletto  from  my  sword-stick  I  parried  his  deadly  blow, 
inflicting  a  severe  wound  in  his  right  arm,  from  which  his 
ponderous  bludgeon  dropped  powerless  to  the  earth.  Pene- 
trated by  the  groans  of  the  sufferer,  it  quickly  occurred  to  me 
that  I  might  possibly  make  a  friend  of  him  in  this  emergency, 
as  the  old  man  seemed  evidently  dying,  and  it  being  utterly 
impossible  for  me  alone  to  be  of  any  assistance  to  him  w^hile 
engaged  keeping  the  other  at  bay.  A  sudden  revulsion  of 
feeling,  therefore,  took  possession  of  my  mind,  and,  without 
a  moment's  hesitation,  I  thus  addressed  the  murderer : — 

"  I  have  no  ill  feeling  towards  you.  Assist  me  to  carry 
this  old  man  to  the  nearest  house,  and  I  solemnly  swear  that 


THE  RECOGNITION.  349 

the  occurrences  of  this  night  shall  never,  in  time,  be  revealed 
by  me." 

He  seemed  struck  with  this  abrupt  yet  feeling  oflFer  of 
reconciliation  on  my  part,  and  all  at  once  the  wild  and  savage 
expression  of  his  features  gave  way,  and,  seizing  my  proflfered 
hand,  he  eagerly  exclaimed : — 

"  I  close  with  your  oiffer.  Swear  not.  I  feel  I  can  trust 
you  without  the  convenant  of  an  oath.  Here,  take  this 
handkerchief,  and  quickly  bind  up  my  ugly  wound  He  is 
not  dead.     There — that  will  do." 

Without  prolonging  the  conversation,  we  instantly  turned 
attention  to  the  old  man  lying  silent  on  the  snow.  Cautiously 
feeling  his  pulse,  I  was  rejoiced  to  find  he  was  not  dead. 

"  Only  somewhat  stunned  by  the  blow,"  said  my  companion, 
and,  lifting  him  tenderly  in  his  arms,  I  was  struck  with  the 
affectionate  solicitude  with  which  he  now  examined  the  person 
of  him  whom,  but  for  my  sudden  appearance  on  the  scene,  he 
would  most  certainly  have  bereft  of  life.  It  was  no  time  either 
to  moralise  or  philosophise,  however,  as  the  heavens  became 
again  overcast,  and  the  snow  began  to  fall  heavily  in  drifting 
ilakes,  obscuring  all  the  landmarks  of,  and  every  object  on,  the 
moor.  While  I  took  hold  of  the  reins  of  the  farmer's  horse 
— who  had  stood  all  the  while  looking  thoughtfully  on — 
my  companion  lifted  his  master  gently  on  the  animars  back, 
and,  springing  up  behind,  held  him  firmly  in  his  arms, 
telling  me,  at  the  same  time,  to  lead  the  way  to  the  adjacent 
hostelrie. 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  we  had  reached  the  lonely  public- 
house,  at  the  door  of  which  stood  the  landlord,  evidently  be- 
wildered at  the  unexpected  scene  before  him. 

"  Lend  us  a  hand,  Jem,"  softly  said  my  companion  to  the 
staring,  stupified  Boniface.  "  A  sad  accident.  Hold  his  back 
steadily  upright  while  I  dismount.  There — come  round  now 
to  this  side,  and  take  hold  of  the  reins  of  the  horse  while  my 
friend  and  I  carry  him  into  the  house." 

"  Put  him  on  this  low  bed,"  said  he  to  me.     '*  There, — ^put 


350  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

this  other  pillow  beneath  his  head ;  turn  his  face  to  the  wall ; 
Jem, — some  brandy  and  water,  hot,  quick,  that's  a  good  fellow." 

"  He  begins  to  breathe  more  naturally,"  he  quietly  said  again 
to  me,  but  with  evident  feelings  of  joy  and  thankfulness. 
"  This  brandy  and  water  will  revive  him." 

Very  much  to  my  astonishment  and  relief — ^for  there  seemed 
from  the  first  to  exist  some  strange  mysterious  sympathy  be- 
tween the  aged  sufferer  and  myself — the  old  man  quickly  and 
greedily  swallowed  the  proffered  draught,  falling  immediately 
afterwards  into  a  deep  sound  slumber. 

"  He  will  be  better,  if  not  quite  conscious,  when  he  awakes,'* 
again  whispered  my  companion.     ''  But  if  he  should  not  1" 

"  I  will  keep  my  vow,'*  I  eagerly  replied. 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  that,  my  friend,''  replied  he,  rather 
pettishly.  ''But,  to  save  reflections,  we  must  get  medical 
advice.  It  is  a  long  way  off  to  the  nearest  doctor ;  but  I'll 
mount  the  horse,  and  away  this  instant."  Then,  as  if 
recollecting  himself — "  No,  the  landlord  must  fetch  the  doctor, 
while  I  go — no  matter  where." 

Turning  quickly  round  to  the  landlord,  who  stood,  still  be- 
wildered, beside  him,  he  hurriedly  said,  "Have  your  wits 
about  you.  Mount  the  farmer's  horse  this  instant ;  ride  as 
fast  as  his  legs  can  carry  him  to  Glamis,  and  bring  the  doctor. 
And,  hark  ye,  come  not  back  alone,  but  bring  the  leech  with 
you.     It  is  a  case  of  life  and  death.     Go ! " 

The  landlord  instantly  disappeared  to  obey  the  imperious 
order,  his  authoritative  friend  immediately  approaching  where 
I  sat  beside  the  bed,  and  just  opposite  the  pine-wood  fire, 
which  cast  a  lurid,  uncertain  light  around  the  comfortless  room, 
he,  in  more  subdued  and  tremulous  tones,  said  to  me — ''While 
I  leave  you  for  a  short  time,  you  will  intently  watch  over  the 
sick  man.  There  is  no  probability  of  his  awakening  before  I 
return,  but,  should  he  do  so,  you  must  be  guided  by  circum- 
stances how  to  act  in  such  an  emergency.  I'll  be  back  anon," 
and  forthwith  disappeared. 

Left  to  my  own  reflections,  of  one  thing  I  felt  quite  certain, 


THE  RECOGNITION.  351 

and  it  was  this — that  of  the  two  it  was  just  barely  possible  I 
might  see  the  landlord  again  in  the  flesh.  As  for  the  other,  I 
felt  relieved  I  had  seen  the  last  of  him,  while,  at  the  same  time, 
I  firmly  resolved  that,  come  what  might,  I  should  religiously 
observe  my  solemn,  though  voluntarily-given  oath. 

Alone,  I  had  time  to  observe  the  aspect  of  the  room  in  which, 
watching  over  the  sick  man,  I  was  resolved  patiently  to  wait 
till  relieved  in  some  way  or  another  from  my  precious  charge. 
The  furnishings  were  poor  and  nuserable  enough — a  few  deal 
chairs,  a  large  oaken  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  a  cold 
stone  floor,  and  log-fire  of  pine  on  the  hearth,  while  a  few 
gaudily-coloured  prints  of  "Courtship,"  "Sir  William  Wallace," 
and  "  Eobert  Bruce "  adorned  the  damp,  whitewashed  walls. 
Some  large  brown  greybeards  stood  in  a  comer  in  an  open 
press,  with  the  usual  adjuncts  of  glasses,  tumblers  and  bickers 
for  the  use  of  the  thirsty  souls  who  frequented  this  roadside 
inn.  I  had  hardly  completed  my  survey  of.  the  apartment, 
when  the  noise  of  wheels  at  the  door,  and  loud,  husky  voices 
bawling  for  the  landlord,  set  my  wits  to  work  as  to  how  I  was 
to  acquit  myself  in  an  emergency  not  once  alluded  to  by  my 
mysterious  friend,  and  most  certainly  not  calculated  on  by 
myself. 

"Hilloa!  old  boy  !'*  a  voice  bawled  out,  and  repeated  still 
ruder  and  louder  than  before.  "  Asleep — eh  1  Bring  half  a 
mutchkin  o'  yer  best,  will  ye  1  Do  you  think  we  can  wait  ony 
langer  on  sic  a  nicht  as  this,  wi'  the  drift  blawin'  auld  wives 
and  pike-staves,  fit  to  smore  the  verra  deil  himsel',  were  he  to 
venture  out  in  sic  a  storm.     Mak'  haste,  will  ye? " 

This  characteristic  speech  relieved  my  anxiety  considerably,, 
for  it  gave  me  to  understand  that  the  poor  frozen  creatures 
without  did  not  intend  to  enter  the  house,  but  were  to  swallow 
the  mountain  dew  as  they  sat  in  their  carts ;  so,  quickly  catch- 
ing hold  of  a  gillstoup,  I  filled  it  with  Glenlivet  from  one  of 
the  greybeards,  and,  summoning  up  all  my  forgotten  Scotch  to 
my  aid,  I  cried  out,  as  I  furiously  opened  the  door  and  pre- 
sented the  whisky — 


352  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

"  Ye're  in  an  awfu'  hurry  the  nicht,  lads;  ye'll  hardly  gi'e 
me  time  to  fill  the  gill-stoup.     See — ^put  that  in  your  cheek." 

"  It's  a'  verra  weel  for  you  to  crack  awa*  that  way,  sittin* 
toastin'  your  taes  at  the  fireside,  fin  we,  poor  carrier  bodies, 
maun  face  the  storm,''  said  the  person  addressed,  the  latter 
part  of  the  sentence  interrupted  by  the  passage  of  the  Glenlivet 
down  his  thirsty  maw. 

"  Tak'  ye  the  ither  glass,"  I  said  to  his  companion  on  the 
other  cart,  not  caring  to  prolong  the  conversation,  lest,  even 
in  the  darkness  of  the  night,  I  might  be  discovered. 

"Thank  ye,  Jem,"  he  replied,  as  he  tossed  up  his  little 
finger.  "  We'll  do  noo  till  we  get  out  o'  the  glen.  There's  a 
saxpence.  We've  a  lang,  lang  road  afore  us  yet.  Gude  nicht ; " 
and  much  to  my  relief,  "Come  aither,  Donald,"  said  his 
companion  in  the  leading  vehicle  to  his  horse,  and  slowly, 
away  in  the  murky  darkness,  over  the  crisp  white  snow,  went 
the  lumbering,  creaking  waggons,  while  I  impatiently,  yet 
joyfully,  returned  to  my  important  charge  in  the  miserable 
hostelrie. 

The  wind  had  now  risen  to  a  furious  gale,  driving  in  whirling 
eddies  the  powdered  snow  through  the  chinks  and  cranies  of 
the  walls,  and  whistling  in  eerie  cadence  around  the  chimney 
top,  while  the  log-fire  on  the  hearth  was  gradually  wasting 
away,  and  a  settled  and  oppressive  gloom  seemed  gathering 
sadly  on  everything  around : — 

"  That  nicht  a  child  micht  undenstand 
The  deil  had  business  on  his  hand/'  i 

I  had  often  read,  heard  repeated,  and  pronounced  these  deeply 
prophetic,  ghostly  lines ;  but  under  all  the  circumstances  of  the 
case,  I  certainly  never  till  now  experienced  their  full  mean- 
ing and  import ;  and  so,  alike  forgetting  my  patient  and  my 
non  est  imentus  friends,  I  gave  myself  up  to  the  full  enjoyment 
of  the  terrific  and  sublime. 

"  Well,  my  firiend,  how  does  your  patient  now  1" 
Whether  my  hair  started  on  end  I  am  not  quite  certain, 
but  I  know  for  a  truth  I  started  instantly  to  my  feet ;  for 


THE  RECOGNITION.  353 

there,  before  my  eyes,  in  veritable  flesh  and  blood,  stood  my 
quondam  friend,  wrapped  in  the  same  identical  plaid  I  saw 
him  wear  while  flitting  from  the  new-made  grave  in  the  early 
part  of  the  night. 

Where  he  had  been  I  was  now  at  no  loss  to  conjecture — 
doubtless  filling  up  the  grave,  and  again  covering  the  earth 
with  its  snowy  mantle,  the  falling  snow  obliterating  all  traces 
of  the  circumstance. 

''  Dead  men  tell  no  tales,''  said  he,  as  he  took  from  beneath 
the  folds  of  his  ample  plaid  the  identical  spade  which  I  had 
seen  and  examined  at  the  grave ;  and,  breaking  the  woodwork 
of  it  in  two  across  his  knee,  he  threw  the  whole  into  the  fire, 
stirring  it  up  at  the  same  time,  till  the  flames  rose  high  in 
the  chimney,  consuming,  in  a  twinkliug,  every  vestige  of  the 
fatal  witness. 

Not  aware  that  I  had  seen  the  instrument  before,  he  rather 
curiously  observed — 

^'  Not  that  I  doubt  your  solemn  oath,  but  that  might  have 
been  discovered  and  identified  by  others.  But  how  goes  our 
patient  ?  Still  asleep.  I  trust  he  won't  awake  till  the  doctor 
comes ;  till  then  I  pray  you  listen  to  a  short  explanation  of  the 
strange  occurrences  of  this  mysterious  night.  Whether  you 
belong  to  these  parts  I  know  not ;  but  few  people  within  fifty 
miles  of  the  parish  of  Glamis  who  have  not  heard  of  the  peer- 
less charms  of  Annie  Lawson** 

'^  Annie  Lawson  V'  I  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,"  he  repeated,  drily.  "  Annie  Lawson.  Didst  thou 
know  any  maiden  in  thy  youth  who  bore  that  charmed 
name)" 

She  was  my  cousin ;  but,  fortunately,  I  had  suflicient  control 
over  my  feelings  to  remain  silent,  while  he  thus  continued  : 

"There  is  not  time  for  leading  questions  or  cross-examinations 
at  present,  therefore  I  shall  at  once  and  hastily  proceed  to  my 
narrative. 

^'  The  maiden,  whose  name  I  cannot  repeat,  I  from  child- 
hood tenderly  loved,  and,  I  have  every  reason  to  believe,  was 

z 


354  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

as  tenderly  loved  in  return.  She  was  meek  and  gentle  as  a 
lamb,  but,  as  I  grew  up  to  manhood,  I  became  wild,  irresolute, 
and  unsettled  in  my  habits,  a  short  residence  at  Dundee  having 
changed  my  whole  nature,  excepting  my  unchangeable  affec- 
tion for  the  only  woman  I  had  ever  loved.  It  is  a  long  story; 
but  Suffice  it,  in  the  meantime,  to  say  that,  having  wasted  my 
little  patrimony,  and  not  having  been  brought  up  to  any  pro- 
fession, I  was  often  reduced  to  great  straits ;  and,  more  from 
the  taunts  I  experienced  from  Annie's  guardian — since  the 
death  of  her  parents — than  from  any  good  purpose  or  resolution 
of  my  own,  I  bound  myself,  for  a  short  period,  to  learn  the 
handicraft  of  a  gardener.  For  some  years  I  had  been  debarred 
from  her  uncle's  house,  although  I  not  unfrequently  met  him, 
only  to  experience,  however,  some  bitter  taunt  or  reproach, 
which  so  deeply  rankled  in  my  soul  that  I  gradually,  at  last, 
came  to  the  calm  resolution  that  it  would  be  no  crime  to  rid 
the  world  of  one  who,  perseveringly  and  systematically,  set 
himself,  so  far  as  I  could  judge,  to  oppose  the  union  of  two 
hearts  evidently  designed  by  Nature  and  God  for  each  other, 
and — ^you  know  the  sequel" 

"A  terrible  resolution,"  I  interrupted. 

"Have  patience;  I  have  not  quite  done  yet  A  terrible 
resolution,  doubtless ;  but  you  must  take  into  account  the  long 
series  of  provocations  I  had  received,  although  I  frankly  .admit 
that  nothing  can  by  any  possibility  justify  the  deliberate 
taking  away  the  life  of  a  fellow  creature.  But  these  taunts 
and  reproaches  had  worked  me  up  to  madness,  and  my  dis- 
eased imagination  and  unsanctified  mind  not  only  coloured, 
according  to  my  wishes,  every  untoward  event  of  my  life,  but 
easily  found  fertile  excuses  for  the  perpetration  of  any 
deed,  however  dark  and  tragical,  for  the  purposes  of  resent- 
ment. But  a  truce  to  these  dark  thoughts,  which  have  now 
for  ever  fled  &om  that  breast  so  long  their  foul  nursery  and . 
habitation.  Annie's  uncle  and  guardian  was  a  man  of  high 
principle  and  unbending  rectitude  of  conduct,  and  doubtless 
his  intentions  were  good  in  acting  towards  me  as  he  had  done, 


THE  RECOGNITION.  355 

and,  on  a  mind  differently  constituted  than  mine,  such  conduct 
might  have  had  a  different  effect.  Generally  speaking,  how- 
ever, the  human  heart  can  be  much  more  effectually  touched, 
and  melted  into  obedience,  by  the  tender  accents  of  persuasive 
love  than  by  harsh,  cold,  and  unfeeling  sarcasm  and  bitter  re- 
proaches, however  much  these,  in  reality,  may  be  deserved  by 
the  object  of  such  vituperations.  Taunts  and  reproaches  drove 
me  to  madness,  but  the  few  words  you  uttered  of  generous 
impulse  changed,  in  an  instant,  my  whole  being.  The  milk  of 
human  kindness  again  flowed  warmly  into  my  soul,  and,  while 
momentarily  and  secretly  asking  forgiveness  for  my  great 
crime,  I  blessed  my  God  for  those  sweet  accents  of  considerate 
love,  when  I  deserved  nothing  but  the  direst  punishment 
which  the  hand  of  man  or  God  could  inflict.  Love  in  my 
heart  took  the  place  of  hatred,  sympathy  came  in  the  stead  of 
resentment,  tenderness  transplanted  rancour,  affection  cast  out 
every  root  of  strife  and  bitterness.  The  sequel,  I  feel,  will 
show  this  to  have  been  the  turning-point  of  my  destiny.  Such, 
my  friend,  is  an  instructive  phase  of  human  life." 

The  door  was  suddenly  opened  from  without,  and  anxiously 
and  enquiringly  entered  the  bustling  landlord,  ushering  in, 
with  all  due  formality,  the  worthy  doctor.  Having  divested 
themselves  of  their  snow-covered  garments,  the  latter  cautiously 
approached  the  bed.  What  account  Boniface  had  given  of  the 
occurrence  we  never  knew,  but  it  was  evident  the  doctor  treated 
the  case  as  contusion  of  the  brain,  occasioned  by  a  fall,  in 
which  belief  we  were  content  to  allow  the  man  of  skill  to  re- 
main. 

*'  A  severe  contusion, '^  he  said,  as  if  speaking  to  himself ; 
"  but  the  pulse  is  strong,"  turning  round,  and  encouragingly 
addressing  us.  "  Just  assist  to  turn  him  gently  on  this  side. 
There ;  that  will  do.    Now,  bring  the  candle." 

The  change  of  posture  appeared  to  have  brought  the  sufferer 
to  consciousness,  for  no  sooner  had  the  light  shone  upon  his 
agitated  features,  than  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  looked  enquir- 
ingly around. 


356  STRATHMOBE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

"  My  father  I"  I  exclaimed,  and  threw  myself  on  his  neck. 

"  My  son !  '*  he  faintly  replied,  "  is  it,  indeed,  thus  we  meet 
again  r' 

Need  I  tell  how  I  watched  by  his  bedside  with  all  a  loving 
son's  devotion  and  solicitude,  until  his  gradual  yet  complete 
restoration  to  health  1  or  how  we  again  lifted  him  up  on  his 
faithful  Donald,  and  took  our  way  from  the  little,  lonely 
hostelrie  to  the  neighbouring  glen  of  Ogilvy — ^I  walking  on  the 
one  side  and  James  Howden  on  the  other,  our  conversation 
sweet,  soft,  and  subdued,  as  became  our  new  relationship  1  or 
how  aear  Annie  Lawson,  still  comely  and  beautiful,  though 
no  longer  young,  met  us  with  a  sweet  smile  of  thankfulness 
and  joy  as  we  entered  my  father's  cosy  homestead  ?  or  how  a 
happy  wedding  took  place  in  the  glen  a  few  months  afterwards, 
and  James  Howden  and  Cousin  Annie  at  last  were  united  in 
the  bonds  of  holy  wedlock  1 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  miller's  daughter. 

"  0  for  the  touch  of  a  yaniahed  hand, 
And  the  sound  of  a  Toice  that  is  still. " 

Tennytom. 

A  SWEET,  sweet  lassie  was  dear  loved  Annie  Glen.  With  a 
light  and  graceful  figure,  a  winning  and  engaging  manner, 
and  an  education  much  above  her  rank  in  life,  Annie  might 
have  graced  the  home  of  any  squire  in  the  parish.  And  she 
was  not  without  her  woers  in  that  high  station,  for  all  forgot 
the  miller^s  daughter  in  the  sylph-like  being  who  moved  as  a 
queen  among  her  compeers. 

Squire  Grahame,  whose  small  estate  was  only  a  short 
distance  from  the  mill  of  Aimiefoul,  seemed  to  be  more 
smitten  than  all  others  with  the  charms  of  the  lovely  maiden ; 
and  many  a  basketful  of  rare  and  beautiful  fruit  did  the 
miller  get  from  the  prolific  garden  of  Ejncaldrum,  accompanied 
always  with  a  rich  bouquet  of  flowers,  grouped  with  much 
taste  and  skill,  and  which  Annie,  with  a  blush,  would 
unhesitatingly  receive  from  her  good-natured,  but  not  far- 
seeing  father.  In  riding  past,  Mr  Grahame  never  omitted 
calling  on  the  miller,  nor  of  exchanging,  if  he  could,  a  glance 
with  his  lovely  daughter.  For  Annie  had  now  reached  that 
period  of  girlhood  at  which  it  was  not  unnatural  that  her 
little  heart  should  flutter,  and  her  cheek  redden,  at  the  sight 
of  such  a  gallant  cavalier,  whose  attentions  to  her  father  could 
not  be  misconstrued  or  mistaken^  Then,  again,  wherever  she 
was  seen — in  the  miU,  or  in  the  field,  in  the  garden  among 
her  flowers,  or  seated,  at  her  little  window,  trellised  with 
roses  and  honeysuckle — she  was  ever  graceful  in  the  pure 
simplicity  of  nature. 


358  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

The  Laird  of  Kincaldnim  was  considerably  older  than 
Annie,  but  yet  in  the  full  bloom  of  manhood.  Tall,  stately,  and 
of  truly  noble  carriage,  with  handsome,  if  not  very  regular 
features,  eyes  of  hazel,  and  locks  as  black  as  ebony,  he  was  no 
unfit  personification  of  the  brave  and  loving  hero  of  young 
maidens'  mystifying  yet  enchanting,  dreams.  But  what 
captivates  a  woman's  heart  is  not  so  much  the  outward  graces 
of  the  man,  as  the  inward  workings  of  the  mind.  The  expres- 
sion of  the  eye,  the  lip,  the  brow,  can  speak  more  truly  and 
more  effectively  than  all  the  charms,  however  bewitching,  of 
mere  external  beauty.  Of  all  these  graces  and  arts  a  thorough 
master  was  Mr  Grahame.  To  the  sentiments  which  flowed 
from  his  silvery  tongue,  now  rapid  as  a  cataract,  then  gentle 
as  a  low,  quiet  stream,  his  dark  sparkling  eyes  corroborated 
by  their  lustre  or  their  softness  the  truth  of  his  eloquent 
words ;  and  yet,  in  my  conscience,  I  believe  he  loved,  sincerely 
loved,  Annie  Glen. 

About  this  time  you  might  have  seen,  in  the  summer  even  • 
ings,  a  pale,  slender,  thoughtful-looking  lad  in  the  miller's 
garden,  weeding  and  dressing  the  flowers,  or  entwining  the 
creepers  and  honeysuckle  around  the  cottage  windows^  while 
Annie  knitted  or  sewed  in  the  green-leaved  summer-house, 
reared  also  by  his  industrious  hands.  Tired,  or  affecting  to 
be  so,  he  would  now  seat  himself  beside  Annie  in  the  bower, 
and  in  a  little  while,  when  the  shadows  of  evening  gathered 
around,  they  would  slowly  leave  their  seat,  passing  silently 
along  the  garden,  and  at  the  little  wicket  bid  each  other  an 
affectionate  adieu.  This  was  William  Osier,  the  son  of  a 
poor  but  pious  widow,  whose  lowly  cottage  is  situate  on  the 
brow  of  the  Hunter  Hill  on  the  other  side  of  the  wood.  The 
great  ambition  of  his  parents  had  been  to  make  their  son  '*  a 
minister."  The  death  of  the  father,  however,  caused  their 
removal  from  the  farm  they  had  so  long  occupied  in  the  glen, 
and  apparently  for  ever  blighted  the  hopes  so  long  and  so 
fondly  cherished.  Inheriting  the  enthusiasm  of  his  father, 
the  boy,  however,  studied  on,  and  at  the  time  of  our  story  had 


THE  HUiLER'S  DAUGHTER.  359 

been  several  sessions  at  College.  William  and  Annie  had 
been  playmates  from  childhood,  and  devoutly  and  affection- 
ately attached  to  each  other.  They  had  sat  on  the  same  form 
at  school,  had  paddled  in  the  bum,  and  gathered  blaeberries 
on  the  hill  together.  As  they  grew  in  years  their  attachment 
increased ;  they  were  seldom  away  from,  and  seemed  to  live 
lo  and  for,  each  other. 

It  began  to  be  observed,  however,  that  Annie  now  became 
more  reserved  and  silent  in  the  presence  of  her  youthful  lover, 
and  seldom,  if  ever,  sang  any  of  those  sweet  songs  with  which, 
unknown  to  herself,  she  had  kept  spell-bound,  as  with  a 
charm,  his  thrilling,  trembling  heart.  She  began  to  experi- 
ence a  strange,  luxurious  kind  of  joy  when  he  was  with  her, 
and  a  feeling  of  loneliness  and  settled  sadness  when  he  was 
away. 

Ah !  these  were  the  first  emotions  of  young  love  in  Annie's 
heart  Sweet,  indescribable,  never-to-be-forgotten  first  love, 
it  becomes  us  not  to  check  thine  aspirations,  for  thou  visitest 
us  only  once  in  our  life-time,  leaving  on  some  fond  hearts  im- 
pressions which  shall  never  pass  away ! 

At  this  time  William  would  long  and  eloquently  expatiate 
to  Annie  on  the  bright  prospects  which  lay  before  him  as  the 
reward  of  all  his  privations  and  toils,  and  pictured  himself  as 
the  happy  pastor  of  some  sequestered  parish,  with  its  little 
church  embosomed  among  veneralde  elms,  and  its  snug,  quiet 
manse,  with  its  garden  and  its  glebe,  on  the  banks  of  some 
gentle  flowing  bunL  But  he  never  hinted  that  she  had  been 
the  unacknowledged  cause  of  all  this  spirit  of  emulation,  nor 
that  his  future  happiness  depended  on  her  consent  to  share  with 
him  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  life.  A  circumstance,  slight  and 
unimportant  in  itself,  nerved  his  mind,  however,  at  this  time 
to  the  determination  of  an  immediate  declaration  of  his  love. 
He  was  seated  with  Annie  and  her  family  one  afternoon  in 
the  miller's  cottage,  when  a  servant  from  Kincaldrum  entered, 
as  was  her  wont,  and  laid  on  the  table  a  basketful  of  plums 
and  apricots  as  a  present  from  the  Squire,     llie  miUer  immedi- 


360  STRATHHORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

ately  opened  the  basket  and  took  out  the  usual  bouquet  cf 
flowers,  and,  in  his  own  pawky  manner,  presented  it  smilingly 
to  Annie,  who  eagerly  grasped  the  more  than  usually  beaut> 
fill  nosegay ;  but  presently  encountering  the  gaze  of  William's 
eye,  she  blushed  more  deeply  than  she  had  ever  done  before, 
and  hastily  placed  it  in  the  crystal  vase  in  silence,  not  daring 
again  to  cast  her  eye  where  he  sat  in  a  new  and  dreamy  state 
of  sadness  and  reflection.  Annie's  mother  emptied  the  con- 
tents of  the  basket  in  a  pretty  little  dish,  and  caressingly 
importuned  William  to  partake  of  the  tempting  firuit;  but 
with  a  full,  heavy  heart,  no  wonder  that  he  could  not  eat. 
Annie  also  declined,  and,  as  if  the  feeling  had  become 
sympathetic,  the  miller  himself  did  not  seem  to  enjoy  with  his 
usuai  reUsh  the  gift  of  his  kind  patron,  while  the  mother, 
with  more  penetration  and  sagacity  than  her  husband,  immedi- 
ately comprehended  the  true  meaning  of  the  pantomime — she 
read  the  enigma  at  once.  The  cloud,  however,  apparently 
soon  passed  away,  and  Annie  and  William's  adieu  that  evening 
at  the  little  wicket  was  more  than  usually  fervent,  he  extract- 
ing from  her  a  sacred  promise  to  meet  him  on  the  evening  of 
the  next  day,  in  the  wood  about  half-way  between  his  mother's 
house  and  her  own. 

Not  knowing  of  the  appointment,  I  was  next  evening  care- 
lessly leaning  over  our  garden  gate,  when  Annie  passed  me 
with  a  smile,  and  took  her  way  by  the  side  of  the  stream,  and 
along  the  wooded  banks  of  the  Hunter-hill  till  she  was  lost  to 
sight  among  the  thick  foliage  of  the  wood.  I  do  not  know 
what  possessed  me,  but  I  thought  I  had  never  seen  her  look 
so  surpassingly  beautiful,  nor  wearing  such  a  radiant  expres- 
sion of  happiness.  Her  graceful  step,  light  as  that  of  the 
nimble  fawn,  seemed  hardly  to  come  in  contact  with  the 
ground,  so  eager  and  impatient  did  she  seem  to  embrace  some 
hidden,  unrevealed,  yet  distant  and  mysterious  joy ! 

Annie  and  William  met.  With  hearts  o'erflowing  with 
tenderest  love,  they  vowed  to  be  each  other's  for  ever,  and 
called  on  heaven  to  witness  the  solemn  compact.     What  a 


THE  miller's  daughter.  361 

load  was  now  removed  from  each  other's  minds !  How 
supremely  happy  did  they  feel !  How  dazzlingly  bright  and 
beautiful  did  the  worid  appear !  What  graspings  of  the  hand — 
what  gazings  into  each  other^s  eyes — what  long,  long  draughts 
from  sweet  and  honied  lips  of  pure,  unsullied,  rapturous  love ! 

But  the  shades  of  twilight  reminded  William  of  two  things 
— of  his  duty  to  see  Annie  home,  and  of  his  engagement, 
that  evening  at  the  manse  of  Glamis.  The  particulars  of  this 
engagement,  which  had  reference  to  their  future  prospects, 
he  truthfully  confided  to  Annie,  who  gently  insisted  on  her 
returning  home  alone,  to  enable  him  to  fulfil  his  promise  to 
Dr  Lyon,  who,  as  his  pastor  and  friend,  took  a  great  interest 
in  his  welfare.  Not  like  some  gay  cavaliers  who  depreciate 
the  prize  when  the  victory  is  won,  William  was  loth  to  part 
with  the  jewel  of  his  heart,  now  dearer  to  him  than  ever. 
They  walked  homewards  on  the  pathway  together,  and  never 
to  either  had  the  soft  winds  brought  such  fragrant  sweets, 
or  the  murmuring  streamlet  beneath,  such  low-breathed  songs 
of  melody. 

They  had  now  come  in  sight  of  the  mill,  and  within  a 
short  distance  of  her  father's  cottage,  and  Annie  again  finnly 
insisted  on  William's  return  to  fulfil  his  engagement  at  the 
manse.  They  paused.  William  looked  first  on  the  angel 
face  of  his  beloved,  then  on  the  heavens  above — looked  again 
through  the  tear-bedimmed  eye,  to  the  very  depths  of  her 
inmost  soul,  received  a  silent  yet  truthful  response,  com- 
mended her  to  the  care  of  the  Good  Shepherd,  and,  with  a 
long,  long  rapt  embrace,  they  parted. 

William,  it  may  well  be  conceived,  would  go  home  with  a 
glad  heart,  and  for  a  time  he  did  luxuriate  in  all  the  ecstatic 
bliss  of  his  new-bom  joy  ;  but,  as  if  suddenly  calling  to  re- 
membrance the  inestimable  value  of  the  prize  he  had  won, 
and  that  it  was  evidently  his  first  and  paramount  duty  to 
protect  and  guard  her  who  now  to  him  was  dearer  than  his 
o^m  life,  he  quickly  retraced  his  steps,  that  he  might  overtake 
his  Annie,  and  conduct  her  in  safety  to  her  father's  cottage. 


362  STRATHHORS :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

He  passed  nimbly  along,  reproaching  himself  all  the  while 
with  his  want  of  feeling  and  neglect,  when,  at  a  sudden  turn 
of  the  rugged  pathway,  he  came  all  at  once  upon  a  shady 
alcove,  situate  on  a  deep  declivity,  and  overlooking  the 
stream  beneath.  Pausing,  he  thought  he  heard  voices  in  the 
bower.  No;  it  must  be  the  evening  zephyrs  whispering 
among  the  branches.  Stealthily  approaching,  the  tones  of  a 
voice  familiar  in  all  its  modulations,  fell  upon  his  startled 
ear.  Scarcely  knowing  what  he  did,  he  peered  with  madden- 
ing eagerness  between  the  branches,  and  there,  seated  on 
the  velvet  turf,  was  the  Squire  of  Kincaldrum,  and  beside 
him — ^yes,  and  with  one  hand  in  his,  and  speaking  softly 
and  sweetly,  with  downcast  head,  was  his  own  beloved,  his 
dear  loved  Annie  Glen !  The  scene — so  unexpected,  so 
mysterious,  so  suspicious — overmastered  his  judgment,  and, 
impelled  by  his  infuriated  passions,  he  madly  rushed  into  the 
alcove,  and,  with  a  demoniac  look  of  jealousy  at  the  terrified 
maiden,  he  wildly  seized  his  equally  affrighted  rival,  who 
instantly  arose  to  throw  him  off,  mildly,  yet  firmly  saying 
to  him,  at  the  same  time,  *'  Young  man,  forbear,  and  all  will 
be  explained.''  But,  alas !  he  was  deaf  to  the  dictates  of 
reason,  and  the  voice  of  his  Annie,  who  had  now  recovered 
her  self-possession,  entreating  him  also  to  desist,  only  seemed 
to  exasperate  him  the  more,  till,  struggling  on  the  brink  of 
the  precipice,  ^vith  Annie  between,  vainly  endeavouring  to 
calm  her  lover,  a  rustling  sound  was  heard  among  the  bushes 
— ^a  faint  cry  arose,  "Oh,  Willie,  Willie,  my  own  dear 
Willie ! "  a  plunge  in  the  stream,  a  long,  wild  shriek,  and  one 
of  the  three  had  disappeared  ! 

Of  the  two  combatants,  one  rushed  frantically  down  the 
steep  banks  to  the  stream,  while  the  other  ran  to  Aimiefoul 
for  assistanca  The  whole  inhabitants,  young  and  old,  were 
soon  following  the  excited  Squire — the  poor  old  miller,  with 
a  heavy  and  sorrowing  heart,  taking  the  lead  of  us  alL  Oh, 
I  well  remember,  when  we  had  reached  the  fatal  precipice, 
and  while  eagerly  listening  for  tidings  from  below,  we  heard. 


THE  miller's  daughter.  363 

in  the  stillness  of  evening,  this  heart-rending  and  bitter  cry — 
"  Oh,  my  Annie,  my  dear,  dear  Annie !  *'  We  now  descended 
speedily,  and  found  William  seated  on  the  grassy  bank 
beside  a  large,  deep  pool,  with  his  Annie  in  his  arms ;  but 
her  pure  and  gentle  spirit  had  passed  away — she  was  dead  ! 
,We  tried  to  force,  to  tear  her  from  him,  but  he  firmly  main- 
tained his  grasp,  until,  comprehending  our  meaning,  he  rose 
and  crept  slowly  with  his  precious  burden  up  the  steep  banks, 
till,  having  reached  the  pathway  above,  we  slowly  proceeded 
on  our  way,  the  sighing  of  the  branches  overhead  blending 
wildly  with  the  oft-repeated  cry — "  Oh,  my  Annie !  I  have 
lost  my  Annie  !  " 

Arrived  at  the  cottage,  amidst  the  sobs,  and  sighs,  and 
tears  of  all,  was  the  lifeless  body  laid  gently  on  the  bed. 
Glean  white  linen  soon  replaced  the  dripping  clothes,  and  a 
mother's  gentle  hand  having  closed  the  still  open,  lustrous 
eyes,  and  parted  the  bright  auburn  hair  on  the  cold,  cold 
brow,  we  all  assembled  round  the  bed  to  take  our  last  look 
of  Annie  Glen.  There  she  lay,  like  a  young  and  beautiful 
bride  asleep  upon  her  nuptial  couch,  with  a  sweet  smile  on 
her  lips,  her  thin,  white  hands  lying  gently  across  her  bosom, 
her  cheeks  radiant  with  healthful  bloom,  and  her  long,  golden 
ringlets  flowing  luxuriantly  over  her  shoulders.  Oh,  thought 
I,  can  tkis^e  death  ]  That  lovely  being,  who  only  a  few  short 
hours  ago  I  saw  in  all  the  flush  of  health  and  beauty,  is  she 
in  reality  dead,  and  am  [  even  now  in  the  very  presence 
chamber  of  the  King  of  Terrors  1  A  low,  tremulous,  sepul- 
chral cry — "  Oh,  my  Annie  !  I  have  lost  my  Annie  ! "  inter- 
rupted my  reverie,  and  recalled  me  to  the  scene  before  me. 
William,  haggard  and  ghastly,  stood  at  one  end  of  the  bed, 
the  Squire,  pale  and  trembling,  stood  at  the  other,  while 
father,  mother,  and  friends,  all  intently  gazing  on  the  dead, 
filled  up  the  group  between.  The  miller,  trembling  with 
emotion,  now  opened  the  large  "ha'  Bible,"  which  he  had 
brought  from  another  room,  and  closed  the  never-to-be- 
forgotten  scene  by  solemnly  reading — "  Behold  I  show  you  a 


364  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

mystery :  we  shall  not  all  sleep,  but  we  shall  be  changed, 
in  a  moment,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  at  the  last  trump  : 
for  the  trumpet  shall  sound,  and  the  dead  shall  be  raised 
incorruptible,  and  we  shall  be  changed.  For  this  corruptible 
must  put  on  incorruption;  and  this  mortal  must  put  on  im- 
mortality. So  when  this  corruptible  shall  have  put  on  incor- 
ruption, and  this  mortal  shall  have  put  on  immortality,  then 
shall  be  brought  to  pass  the  saying  that  is  written,  Death  is 
swallowed  up  in  victory.  0  death,  where  is  thy  sting?  O 
grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ?  The  sting  of  death  is  sin ;  and 
the  strength  of  sin  is  the  law.  But,  thanks  be  to  God,  which 
giveth  us  the  victory  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

If  I  could  divine  your  thoughts,  dear  reader,  I  would  ima- 
gine you  now  to  be  weighing  carefully  the  probabilities  and 
improbabilities  of  the  story  of  the  "  Miller's  Daughter."  If 
true,  you  think,  not  without  reason,  that  a  strange  and  strong 
suspicion  must  ever  rest  on  the  singular  and  mysterious  conduct 
of  Annie  Glen.  Her  apparent  calmness  in  the  interview  with 
her  lover ;  her  repeated  expostulations  as  to  the  propriety  of 
his  leaving  her  to  pursue  her  way  home  alone ;  ai;id  her 
sudden  discovery  in  the  arbour  in  company  with  the  Laird  of 
Kincaldrum,  all  tend  to  the  grave  suspicion  that  she  was  playing 
false  with  her  aflSanced  lover.  Well,  1  am  rather  glad  than 
otherwise  that  your  mind  still  continues  overshadowed  with 
these  doubts,  as  it  will  give  me  an  opportunity  of  dispelling 
ungenerous  thoughts  and  unjust  suspicions,  dishonourable  alike 
to  the  living  and  the  dead. 

On  the  evening  in  question,  Mr  Grahame  was  taking  his 
accustomed  walk  along  the  banks  of  the  bum.  Enticed  by 
the  extreme  beauty  of  the  night,  and  beguiled,  as  he  has  since 
confessed,  by  busy  and  ever-anxious  thoughts  regarding  the 
miller's  daughter,  he  had  wandered  much  farther  in  the  wood 
than  was  his  wont,  when,  at  an  abrupt  turn  of  the  narrow  path, 
who,  to  his  utter  surprise  and  astonishment,  should  he  meet 
but  Annie  Glen !  A  strange,  indescribable  embarrassment 
overpoweringly  and  suddenly  seized  both  at  the  same  moment; 


THE  miller's  daughter.  365 

and  while  the  one  essayed  to  speak,  the  other  trembled  like 
an  aspen,  crimsoned  and  turned  pale  by  turns. 

"  Good  evening,  Miss  Annie/'  at  last  said  the  Laird.  '^  I 
did  not  expect  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  here.  Have  you 
come  from  a  distance  1    You  seem  fatigued  with  walking." 

To  these  questions,  so  pointed  and  yet  so  natural,  Annie  could 
not  reply  without  in  some  measure  entangling  herself  in  a 
labyrinth  of  explanations  which  she  could  not  doubt  were  not 
really  desired,  and  which  she  certainly  had  no  inclination  to 
make.  Still,  this  hesitation  increased  her  embarrassment, 
which  Mr  Grahame  very  naturally  construed  into  a  feeling  the 
very  opposite  of  what  it  really  was.  Overcome  by  her  own 
feelings  and  his  soft,  tender  words,  and  entirely  forgetting,  or 
rather  not  once  thinking  of,  the  consequences,  she  sank  down 
on  the  rustic  seat  in  the  alcove.  Mr  Grahame  immediately 
seated  himself  beside  her,  apparently  in  rapt  admiration  at  the 
fascinating  and  bewitching  charms  of  to  him  the  fairest  creature 
in  God's  creation.  Allowing  her  a  few  minutes  to  compose 
herself — during  which  time  her  large,  blue,  dreamy  eyes  would 
sometimes  meet  and  dwell  on  his  with  a  strange  expression  of 
pleasure  and  grief — he  thus  addressed  the  trembling  maiden — 

"  Dear.  Annie  Glen,  I  have  ever  loved  you  dearly.  My 
heart  has  long  been  yours.  Oh,  give  me,  dearest  Annie,  yours 
in  return !  The  happiness  of  my  future  life  depends  on  your 
consent.     Shall  I,  dearest,  call  you  mine  V* 

He  grasped  her  yielding  hand,  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 
Strange  !  this  pressure  of  the  hand  had  a  more  powerful  effect 
on  her  heart  than  all  the  sweet  and  honied  words  to  which  he 
had  so  tenderly  given  utterance.  Its  vibrations  with  electric 
force  thrilled  luxuriously  through  her  very  soul,  and  cast  for 
a  time  over  every  sense  and  feeling  a  strange,  mysterious,  yet 
delightful  spelL  Such  homage,  such  an  avowal  of  heart-felt 
love,  from  one  high  in  birth  and  station  to  one  so  infinitely 
his  inferior,  might  have  turned  a  stronger  head  than  that  of 
Aimie  Glen.  But  it  was  only  a  momentary  feeling ;  a  woman's 
courage  and  presence  of  mind  came  to  her  relief  at  last. 


366  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AKD  LEGENDS. 

"  Mr  Grahame/*  she  said,  softly  and  sweetly,  "  I  feel  grate- 
ful— ^very  grateful — ^for  your  kind  wishes ;  but  my  heart  is 
not  mine,  it  is  another's.  It  is  only  an  hour  since  I  vowed  to 
be  Willie  Osler^s  for  ever,  and  I  will  keep  my  vow,  for  I 
have  loved  Willie  and  Willie  has  loved  me  since  we  were 
bairns ;  and  my  heart  and  love  I  have  willingly  and  unalter- 
ably given  to  hiuL  But  you,  Mr  Grahame,  will  get  some  great 
lady  that  you  will  like  better,  I  trust,  and  who  will  be  a  fitter 
wife  to  you  than  would  have  been  poor  Annie  Glen." 

This  reply,  so  unexpected,  and  yet  so  artlessly  firm,  quite 
confounded  the  Laird  of  Kincaldrum  who,  soon  recovering  him- 
self, however,  was  just  expressing  his  admiration  of  the  noble 
sentiments  she  had  uttered;  and,  forgetting  his  own  disap- 
pointment and  sorrow,  he  was  assuring  her  of  his  continued 
interest  in  her  welfare,  and  of  his  heartfelt  wishes  for  her 
happiness,  when  William  rushed,  like  one  demented,  into 
the  alcove,  startling  both  as  if  by  some  wild  and  ghostly 
apparation. 

Now  you  seem  satisfied,  and  Annie  Glen  is  restored  to  your 
confidence  in  all  her  guileless  innocence  and  beauty.  The 
character  of  the  Laird  must  also,  if  possible,  rise  higher  in 
your  estimation,  for  you  observe  he  makes  no  allusion  to  her 
attractive  charms  or  bewitching  beauty,  praising  neither  the 
bright  vermilion  of  her  cheek,  the  dreamy  lustre  of  her  eye, 
nor  the  flowing  and  beautiful  luxuriance  of  her  golden  tresses ; 
nor  speaks  of  his  rank  and  high  station,  his  houses  nor  his 
lands,  but  simply  makes  a  declaration  of  his  love,  in  words  so 
pure  and  simple  that  we  cannot  doubt  but  that  they  flowed 
from  a  sincere  and  loving  heart. 

But  the  immediate  cause  of  her  sudden  disappearance  f 
That,  I  grant,  is  enveloped  in  mystery,  for  Mr  Grahame  has 
never  disclosed  any  particulars  of  this  part  of  the  tragedy 
which  has  in  any  way  served  to  throw  the  least  light  upon  it. 
The  scuffle  did  not  last  many  minutes,  and  the  violence  was 
all  on  the  side  of  William,  the  Laird  merely  keeping  him  at 
bay.    Whether  she  was  pushed  over  the  precipice^  either  acci- 


THE  miller's  daughter.  367 

dentally  or  intentionally,  or  lost  her  footing  on  the  narrow 
pathway  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  must  now  and 
for  ever  be  unsatisfying  matter  of  conjecture. 

Mr  Grahame,  for  some  considerable  time  after  this  melan- 
choly and  mysterious  occurrence,  shut  himself  up  in  his  house 
and  was  seen  by  no  one  save  an  old  domestic  who  attended 
him.  It  was  imagined  his  mind  had  become  affected,  and  all 
sincerely  mourned  the  sad  fate  of  the  good  laird  of  Kin- 
caldrum.  But  a  purifying  and  sanctifying  process  was  going 
on  in  his  mind  under  divine  and  spiritual  influence.  Despair, 
like  an  evil  spirit,  at  first  prostrated  him  to  the  dust,  and 
no  ray  of  hope  for  a  time  penetrated  his  soul  in  the  darkness 
by  which  he  was  enveloped.  But  his  mind  gradually  became 
more  composed,  and  its  faculties,  instead  of  spending  their 
strength  in  ceaseless  ravings  against  the  hardness  of  his  fate, 
and  the  hopeless  nature  of  his  malady,  began  to  exert  their 
influence  in  first  calming,  then  comforting  his  troubled  spirit, 
till  a  sweet  and  heavenly  joy  filled  his  soul,  and  a  holy  and 
blessed  influence  from  on  high  overshadowed  and  controlled 
his  thoughts. 

Feeling  the  weight  of  sorrow  removed  from  his  heart,  he 
now  came  forth  to  view  again  the  beauty  and  glory  of  this 
fair  world;  and  although  he  had  often  before  felt  his  soul 
elevated  and  refreshed  by  the  chaste  loveliness  of  the  bursting 
spring,  yet  never  till  now  did  his  own  heart  seem  so  bright 
a  reflex  and  emblem  of  that  instructive  and  expressive  season, 
which  now  awakening  as  from  the  dead,  luxuriated  in  new 
life  and  vigour,  arrayed  in  the  bright  hues  of  youth,  and 
scattering  beauty  and  hope,  and  gladness  all  around.  Nature 
to  him  became  more  lovely  than  ever,  everything  in  this  fair 
and  beautiful  earth  becoming  signs  and  emblems  of  spiritual 
life  ;  and  he  roamed  over  hill  and  dale,  rejoicing  in  his  new 
existence,  his  heart  ever  rising  to  his  Heavenly  Father  in 
holy  and  adoring  aspirations  of  love  and  gratitude. 

From  all  this  he  saw  and  learned  his  duty  to  man.  God  never 
intended  that  m^n  should  live  the  life  of  an  anchorite.    Every 


368  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

human  being,  however  humble  his  station,  has  faculties  to 
exercise  and  duties  to  perform,  and  these  faculties  can  only 
be  ezerdsed  and  those  duties  performed  in  society,  in  daily 
and  habitual  intercourse  with  his  fellow-men.  From  this 
time  Mr  Grahame  was  seen,  to  the  great  delight  of  all,  moving 
about  the  parish  as  usual,  engaging  actively  in  eveiy  good 
work  ;  giving  liberally  of  his  means  and  substance  for  the 
promotion  of  all  schemes  of  benevolence ;  personally  superin- 
tending some  of  our  parochial  institutions ;  and  kindly  and 
cheerfully  giving  his  assistance  and  advice  to  all  who  required 
them.  Yet  traces  of  the  terrible  struggle  through  which 
his  mind  had  passed  remained,  in  the  deep  wrinkles  which 
furrowed  his  brow,  in  the  grey  and  silvery  hairs,  and  in  the 
shadow  of  melancholy  sorrow  which  sometimes  overcast  his 
usually  serene  and  saint-like  countenance. 

But  what  became  of  William  t  Does  he  still  live  1  Alas  ! 
his  short  life  affords  a  sad  yet  instructive  contrast  to  that  of 
his  rival,  the  Laird  of  Kincaldrum.  Naturally  of  an 
extremely  sensitive  disposition,  and  having  no  solid  abiding 
principles  to  uphold  him  in  the  day  of  trial,  his  frail  tenement 
when  the  floods  came  and  the  waves  beat,  fell  an  easy  prey 
to  the  storm.  Within  two  days  after  Annie's  death  he  had 
become  a  raving  maniac.  From  the  first  his  case  was  hopeless. 
A  fever  of  the  brain  may  deprive  for  a  time  the  patient  of  his 
reason,  but  recovery,  though  slow,  generally  comes  at  last. 
But  poor  Willie  was  crushed  to  the  earth  as  with  a  thunder- 
bolt— treason  fled  suddenly  and  for  ever ! 

The  first  time  I  met  him  was  about  two  months  after  the 
catastropha  I  was  returning  home  alone  one  evening,  and 
had  just  reached  the  fatal  precipice,  when,  to  my  utter  dismay, 
he  darted  wildly  out  of  the  arbour,  calling  piteously  to  me — 
"Have  you  seen  my  Annie)  have  you  seen  my  Annie  1" 
and  then,  looking  wistfully  down  Uie  steep  b^mks  to  the 
stream  beneath,  he  shuddered,  sobbed,  and  wept  like  a  child 
wringing  his  hands  in  the  most  acute  anguish ;  then,  suddenly 
darting  into  the  wood,  he  was  in  a  moment  out  of  sight,  cry- 


THE  MILLER'S  DAUGHTER.  369 

ing  mournfully  as  he  disappeared — "  O^  my  Annie !  I  have 
lost  my  Annie  !  *' 

The  only  occupation  that  seemed  to  afford  him  any  appar- 
ent pleasure  was  the  cultivation  of  a  little  plot  of  flowers  in 
his  mother's  garden.  Here  he  had  planted  all  the  favourite 
flowerets  of  Annie,  and  tended  them  with  more  than  parental 
care,  watching  their  unfolding  blossoms  with  the  most  raptur- 
ous delight.  He  trod  softly  among  them,  and  spoke  gently 
to  them,  as  if  they  had  been  spiritual  beings  who  ever  held 
sweet  communion  with  his  beloved  in  some  far-off  land,  and 
who  would  carry  his  thoughts  and  his  wishes  on  their 
fragrant  wings  to  her  blest  and  sunny  abode  in  the  sky. 

When  any  of  them  began  to  droop,  and  their  cherished 
bloom  to  fade  away,  he  evinced  the  greatest  concern  and 
sorrow,  often  hanging  over  them  for  hours,  and  murmuring 
softly — "  Oh,  my  Annie  !  I  have  lost  my  Annie  !  *' 

In  the  long  dreary  days  of  winter,  he  would  mope  beside 
the  ingle,  as  if  in  a  drowsy  troubled  dream,  until  the  time 
of  the  evening  when  the  catastrophe  occurred,  and  which  he 
seemed  to  know  by  instinct,  when  he  would  instantly  bound 
away  to  the  fatal  spot,  sob  and  weep  on  the  banks  of  the 
stream,  making  the  leafless  woods  to  ring,  and  startling  the 
passing  traveller  with  the  bitter  cry — "  Oh,  my  Annie !  I 
have  lost  my  Annie  ! " — a  cry  which,  coming  as  it  did,  from 
the  very  depths  of  a  broken  heart,  so  plaintively  wild  and 
sorrowful,  none  who  heard  could  ever  forget. 

With  the  voice  of  the  cuckoo  ushering  in  the  advent  of 

spring,  came  new  life  and  vigour  to  the  poor  maniac,  and  he 

watched  the  rolling  up  of  winter's  white  shroud,  and  the 

arraying  of  Nature  in  her  vernal  robes,  and  Ustened  to  the 

singing  of  the  birds  and  the  humming  of  the  streams,  with 

the  most  intense  anxiety  and  delight;  for  he  instinctively 

knew  that  the  time  of  the  springing  of  plants,  of  the  bursting 

of  leaves,  and  the  blossoming  of  flowers,  was  come.    Oh,  with 

what  rapture  would  he  kneel  on  the  green  velvet  grass,  and 

kiss    the    first   snowdrop  that  caught  his  eye!     What  a 

2a 


370      STRATHHOBE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

beantifiil  emblem  of  his  Annie,  snatched,  in  all  her  virgin 
purity  in  the  spring-time  of  life,  from  this  cold,  uncongenial 
soil,  and  transplanted  to  bloom  for  ever  in  a  sunnier  and 
happier  clime!  And,  poor  soul!  who  knows  but  thine 
agitated  mind  could  sometimes  collect  and  concentrate  its 
ideas  upon  some  object  like  this,  till  a  glimpse  of  reason  was 
given  thee  to  comprehend  the  type  and  the  anti-type ! 

A  beautiful  and  instructive  trait  in  the  character  of  the 
true  Christian,  must  now  be  unfolded.  The  mother  of  the 
poor  student  was  so  broken  down  in  health  by  the  sad  afiSic- 
tion  that  had  befallen  her,  that  she  was  totally  unable  to 
maintain  either  herself  or  her  maniac  son.  A  kind,  thou^ 
for  some  time  an  unknown  friend,  was,  however,  now  raised 
up  for  her  help,  and  not  only  did  she  not  want  the  comforts 
and  necessaries  of  life,  but  enjoyed  many  little  luxuries  which 
she  had  never  before  either  wished  for,  or  received.  A  tall, 
thoughtful-looking  man  was  now  often  to  be  seen  in  the 
widow's  cottage,  kindly  inquiring  for  her  and  her  son,  who 
would,  on  leaving,  enter  the  little  garden,  and  softly  walk 
among  the  flowers,  trying  all  the  while  to  attract  the  attention 
of  William,  who,  however,  never  seemed  to  be  aware  of  his 
presence,  but  talked  away  to  his  flowers  gently  and  softly,  as 
if  none  but  himself  were  there  to  listen  to  his  soliloquies. 
Do  you  not  recognise  in  this  visitor  an  old  and  valued  friend  1 
Yes  ;  it  is  indeed  the  pious  Laird  of  Kincaldrum.  Oh,  God ! 
how  wonderful  are  thy  ways  to  man  !  They  are  indeed  past 
finding  out. 

But  the  closing  scene  is  at  hand.  Being  in  the  village,  I 
called  at  the  cottage  to  inquire  for  the  poor  student.  It  was 
a  beautiAil  day  in  spring,  and  the  woods  were  vocal  with  the 
sweet  minstrelsy  of  the  birds  rejoicing  in  their  new-bom 
gladness.  As  I  entered  the  little  wicket,  I  was  struck  with 
the  oppressive  stillness  which  reigned  around.  I  walked  up 
to  the  flower-beds  and  observed  several  favourites  just 
bursting  into  full  bloom,  and  all  seemed  trim  and  neat,  as  if 


THE  miller's  daughter.  371 

some  gentle  hand  had  recently  been  dressing  and  fondling 
thenL     But  where  was  the  poor  maniac  f 

A  strange  presentiment  came  chillingly  over  me,  and  I 
softly  entered  the  cottage.  On  the  bed  lay  the  poor  spent 
student,  apparently  dying.  Beside  him  sat  his  aged  mother, 
gazing  wistfully  into  his  sightless  eyes ;  while  Mr  Grahame 
of  Kincaldrum,  devoutly  kneeling  on  the  cold  clay  floor,  was 
fervently  supplicating  for  mercy  and  peace  to  the  departing 
spirit.  Some  of  his  favourite  flowers,  I  now  observed,  were 
strewed  on  the  bed  around  him ;  a  fresh,  newly-pulled  snow- 
drop he  grasped  in  his  thin  white  hands,  while  he  held  them 
up  in  the  attitude  of  prayer,  pronouncing  solemnly  and  dis- 
tinctly the  blessed  words  which  he  had  heard  read  over  the 
lifeless  body  of  his  beloved — "  Behold  I  show  you  a  mystery : 
we  shall  not  all  sleep,  but  we  shall  be  changed,"  &c.,  &c, 
adding  immediately  after,  but  in  low,  broken  accents — "  The 
time  is  at  hand.  FarewelL  Oh,  my  Annie !  I  have  found 
my  Annie  now!" 

A  long  pause  ensued.  His  hands  dropped  powerlessly  on 
his  scarcely-heaving  breast — a  long,  deep-drawn  sigh — ^then  a 
sudden  spiritual  expression  of  inward  joy,  and  Willie  had 
rejoined  his  Annie  in  a  purer  and  happier  world  than  ours  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXL 

FIBST  AlHD  LAST  LOVE. 

"  And  the  ooantry  proyerb  known, 
That  eyery  man  ahould  take  his  own/ 


Puck. 


Love  f  There  is  no  single  word  in  our  language  which  con- 
veys, at  the  same  time,  so  many  joyous  anticipations,  and  so 
many  painful  recollections.  Woman's  love  1  what  is  it  ?  An 
unchangeable,  eternal  thing,  or  a  flickering  fleeting  shadow  ; 
man's  guiding  star  to  happiness  and  peace,  or  an  ignis  fahius 
that  lures  him  on  to  wretchedness  and  woe ;  the  grand  aim  of 
all  his  hopes,  or  only  the  prophetic  beginning  of  his  misery  t 

Ask  that  impetuous  youth,  with  eager  elasticity  in  his  step, 
and  beaming  rapture  in  his  eye,  coming  up  yon  shady  lane 
where  he  has  just  given  his  heart  to  another,  and  received 
another's  in  return,  what  he  thinks  of  woman's  love,  and  he 
will  at  once  declare,  with  the  utmost  sincerity,  founded  on  a 
thorough  conviction  of  its  truth,  that  it  is  pure  as  the  love 
of  angels,  and  eternal  as  the  everlasting  hills ;  that  sooner  will 
the  sun  forget  to  shine,  or  the  moon  to  charioteer  in  the 
heavens,  than  woman's  love  shall  grow  cold,  or  change,  or  ever 
lose  one  spark  of  its  intensity  or  brightness ! 

But  here  comes  a  traveller  of  another  description.  His  step 
is  slow  and  hesitating,  his  cheek  is  pale,  his  eye  is  troubled, 
and  you  observe,  he  is  no  longer  young,  as  the  dry  wiry 
wrinkles  and  stray  grey  hairs,  provokingly  testify.  He  seems 
sad.  Shall  we  speak  to  himt  Probably  he  has  been  forsaken 
—jilted  I 

''  What  is  woman's  love,  my  friend  f " 

"  Woman's  love  1  Tell  it  not  in  time ;  pronounce  it  not  in 


FIRST  AND  LAST  LOVE.  373 

eternity.  It  is  decdtfol— changefiil — despotic — fickle — ^illu- 
sive— ^a  lie  I  Believe  me,  there  is  no  such  thing  in  the  wide 
universe,  as  woman's  love.  Put  not  thy  confidence  in  woman. 
Toy  with  her  not;  trust  her  not.  She  only  wooes  you  to  her 
heart  that  you  may  feel  how  cold  a  thing  it  is ;  she  syren- 
like, allures  you  within  her  meshes,  only  to  vanquish  and 
destroy,  and  then  laugh  at  your  extreme  simplicity,  and  mock 
your  hitter  agony !" 

Then,  how  many  kinds  of  love  are  there)  First  love; 
second  love;  love  in  teens;  and  old  love  renewed.  Which 
of  these  is  the  most  enduring  and  true  % 

My  dashing  young  friend,  Frank  Surface,  asserts  most 
energetically  it  must  be  the  first,  probably  for  this  very 
reason,  that  time  with  him  has  not  yet  tested  its  sincerity. 
My  worthy  and  long-tried  friend,  Joseph  Sharp  again, 
assures  me,  with  a  peculiar  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  and  a 
knowing  twinkle  of  the  eye,  that  "  second  thoughts  are  best.'' 
Then,  my  little  nephew  in  his  teens,  by  his  sighs  and  his 
tears,  and  lus  blind  devotion  to  that  little  coquetish  puss, 
cousin  Jane,  would  fain  make  me  believe,  there  is  nothing 
like  "  Calf  love,"  while  that  elderly  couple  seated  lovingly  side 
by  side  in  the  shady  arbour,  would  equally  impress  me  with 
the  notion,  that  there  is  no  love  like  ''old  love  renewed!" 

And  now,  gentle  reader,  amidst  this  conflict  of  opinion,  both 
as  regards  the  existence,  or  non-existence,  of  woman's  love, 
and, — supposing  it  to  have  a  real  existence — ^how  am  I  to 
decide  the  question — ^what  kind  of  love  is  the  most  enduring 
and  true  ? 

Look  down  on  the  beautiful  Howe,  with  its  clumps  of  trees 
and  daisied  meadows,  its  flocks  of  sheep  and  lowing  kine,  and 
follow  the  course  of  the  gently  flowing  Dean,  now  kissing  the 
wild  flowers  on  its  verdant  banks,  then  dashing  fretfully  o'er 
the  mimic  rocks,  until,  coming  near  us,  placid  and  calm  it  sings 
its  quiet  evening  song  beneath  the  windows  of  yonder  cottage, 
embosomed  among  spreading  elms,  and  festooned  with  roses  and 
honeysuckle,  and  the  sweetly  scented  briar.    Gaze  somewhat 


374  STRATHMORB  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDa 

more  intently,  and  you  will  observe  a  beautiful  girl  in  white 
seated  at  an  open  casement,  around  which  the  jessamine  and 
the  rose,  with  undisguised  rivalry,  strive  which  will  have  the 
preference  first  to  kiss  her  honied  lips.  Observe  the  rich 
auburn  of  her  sunny  ringlets,  stirred  gently  by  the  evening 
breeze,  the  deep  thoughtfulness  of  her  dreamy  eyes  of  soft, 
celestial  blue,  the  broad  and  high  forehead  of  marble  white- 
ness, the  vermilion  cheek  and  pouting  lip,  and  you  will  admit 
you  have  never  seen  a  more  fascinating  or  beautiful  woman. 
Your  interest  in  this  fair  damsel  will  increase  when  I  t#ll  you 
she  has  left  harp  and  song,  the  merry  dance,  and  festd  hall, 
that  she  might  gaze  awhile  on  hill  and  dale,  and  the  glories  of 
the  setting  sun,  and  listen  to  the  soft  breathings  of  her  much- 
loved  streamlet,  hushing  all  around  to  repose  and  rest  But 
the  secret  spring  of  all  this  abstraction  and  solicitude  takes 
its  rise  in  the  fact  that  within  one  short  hour  she  would 
meet  the  choice  of  her  heart,  and  be  in  the  arms  of  her 
beloved. 

"  My  dear,  dear  Lucy !" 
"  My  own  beloved  Edmund ! — 

"  How  very  long  this  day  hath  seemed  to  me !  The  hours 
hung  so  heavily,  I  thought  that  evening  would  never  come. 
My  books  ceased  to  interest  me,  my  harp  emitted  strange  and 
doleful  sounds,  the  festal  hall  to  me  had  lost  its  charms,  and 
when  I  pensively  gazed  from  my  casement  on  the  scenes  I 
loved  so  well,  the  trees  would  only  sigh,  the  streamlet  firet 
and  mourn,  the  roses  around  would  tempt  me  with  their  full- 
blown  blossoms,  then  pettishly  shrink  back,  as  they  pitied  my 
sadness,  and  the  evening  sun,  to  me,  sank  down  to  rest^  not 
in  a  burnished  couch  of  glory,  but  in  a  dark  and  troubled 
cloud." 

" But  why  this  sadness,  love." 
''Because,  Edmund,  this  was  to  be  our  last  meeting." 
''  Oh»  surely  not  our  last  meeting,  Lucy.    True,  we  must 
now  part — ^but  not  for  ever !    To-morrow's  sun  will  see  me  on 
the  great  deep,  voyaging  on  to  the  Indies,  but  I  go  there  with 


FIRST  AND  LAST  LOVE.  375 

your  sanction  and  approval,  love,  and  in  a  few  years  I  shall 
retirn  to  cast  my  treasures  and  my  heart  at  your  feet,  and  to 
spend  together  my  hard-earned  rupees  in  a  style  and  manner 
befitting  your  station  and  condition  in  life.  Is  there  not 
something  noble  in  the  sacrifice  ?" 

'M  freely  grant  there  is;  but  hearts  may  change  with 
change  of  scene. " 

"  Wbat !  Distance  and  time  obliterate  the  land-marks  of 
love )  On  the  contrary,  in  hearts  where  true  and  real  affec- 
tion bath  taken  root,  distance  only  serves  to  strike  its  tendrils 
the  stronger,  and 

*  Time  the  impression  deeper  makes. 
As  streams  their  chamiels  deeper  wear. ' " 

"Y«s!  So  sing  the  poets,  Edmund;  but  true  affection, 
tested  Dy  the  rough  hand  of  time  and  distance,  is  subjected  to 
a  greal  trial,  and  sometimes — sometimes  gives  way." 

"  01 !  I  understand  you,  Lucy — (kiss  me,  my  love) — ^you 
mean  ihat  we  who  go  forth  to  the  world,  exposed  to  its  trials, 
acd  temptations,  and  varied  duties,  are  more  apt  to  be  over- 
come by  the  blandishments  and  allurements  which  may  sur- 
nund  us  than  those  we  leave  behind  in  comparative  retire- 
nent,  and  unexposed  to  the  same  temptations  1" 

"  Exactly  so,  my  Edmund." 

''  Then,  who  shall  first  fail  in  their  allegiance  ? '' 

"  Oh,  do  not  ask  that  question.  It  implies  a  latent  doubt 
ii  the  mind  which  I  am  sure  neither  you  nor  I  entertain. 
Yhat  I  more  particularly  alluded  to  was  your  sojourn  in  a 
freign  clime,  where  everything  that  met  the  eye  or  reached 
tie  ear  would  be  strange  and  new,  and  the  possibility  of  all 
ombined  causing  a  forgetfulness  of  home,  and  of  those  trusting 
flid  loving  hearts  who  cling  the  more  closely  to  those  they  love 
ii  proportion  as  time  and  hope  wear  away." 

"  Then  your  anxiety,  Lucy,  regarding  the  future,  arises  not 
o  much  from  an  apprehension  that  your  lover  may  turn  an 
lolator  of  wealth,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  the  finer  feelings  of 
£&  nature,  but  from  an  innate  jealous  fear — " 


376  STRATHMORS :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LBGENDa 


a 
it 


For  shame,  Edmund ! " 

That  his  eyes  may  be  dazzled  and  his  heart  touched  bj 
the  swarthy  channs  of  some  dosky,  dreamy  beauty  in  the 
golden  bowers  of  Ind  i    Then  I  swear — '* 

''  Don't  swear,  Edmund ! " 

"  I  solemnly  swear,  that  sooner  shall  the  sun  for^t  to 
shine — ^ 

''What  noise  was  that  among  the  bu^es  f " 

"  Or  trees  forget  to  leaf  themselves  in  summer — " 

*'  That  noise  again  t " 

''Than  thati  shall  ever  f oiget— THEE ! ** 
Hush  !    Some  eavesdropper,  Edmund,  is  nigh ! " 
Beloved  of  my  soul  I  my  own !  my  beautiful  I  nf  love 
for  thee  is  pure  as  that  of  the  angels,  and  eternal  as  the 
everlasting  hills." 

"  We  are  discovered.     Farewell ! " 

"Change)  Oh,  no  !  my  love  can  never  change — heaven 
and  earth  my  witnesses ! " 

"  One  word  more,  and  we  are  lost.    Farewell ! " 

"  Stay !  Lucy,  stay ! — one  moment  stay ! " 

"No,  not  one  moment^  Edmund.  See,  take  this  locke; 
'tis  in  the  form  of  a  hearty  and  within  is  a  ringlet  of  my  bar, 
festooned  like  forget-me-not.  Keep  it;  never  part  with  i; 
and  if  ever  I  should  prove  false,  present  it  to  me,  that  tje 
sight  thereof  may  fill  me  with  remorse  and  shame.  Tht 
sound  again  1  Dearest  Edmund,  £GLrewelL" 

"  My  dear,  dear  Lucy  ! " 

"  My  own  dear  Edmund ! " 

And  thus  they  parted;  and  if  ever  man  and  woma 
believed  their  love  to  and  for  each  other,  at  the  time,  ws 
pure,  and  true,  and  unchangeable,  it  was  the  two  actors  i 
the  little  secret  drama  now  narrated. 

I  dislike  long  introductions  either  to  a  sermon,  a  poeni,^ 
tale,  or  a  novel,  so  will  neither  tease  nor  weary  the  reader  h 
minute,  stereotyped  details  of  my  farewell  to  the  lovely  How< 
or  of  my  voyage  out  to  Lidia ;  or,  when  arrived  there,  ta 


FIRar  AND  LAST  LOVB.  377 

him  how  many  bottles  of  pale  ale  I  consumed  per  diem ;  how 
many  tiger  hunts  and  hairbreadth  escapes  I  had  in  the  jungle  ; 
how  many  faithful  Sepoys,  like  guardian  angels,  protected 
my  luxurious  bungalow ;  or  how  high  I  rose  in  the  service^ 
by  no  particular  merit  of  my  own,  but  simply  because  my 
father's  second  cousin  claimed  some  distant  relationship  with 
the  head  groom  of  the  Groyemor-General's  aide-de-camp. 
Neither  shall  one  word  be  said  of  the  once  famous  mid-day 
tif&na ;  or  the  cool  rides  after  sunset,  enhanced  very  consider- 
ably by  the  beautiful  fair  English  girls,  of  recent  importation 
from  fatherland,  who  laughingly  accompanied  us  to  enjoy  the 
refreshing  evening  breeze;  or  the  quiet  tU6-a4Ues  in  the 
shady  verandah,  or  amid  the  gorgeous  and  luxuriant  foliage, 
which  in  that  fair  and  sunny  land  so  prodigally  abounds. 

To  say  anything  of  my  martial  prowess  on  the  field,  or 
simply  to  hint  at  the  number  of  wild  beasts  (better  not  give 
their  names)  which  succumbed  to  my  deadly  and  unerring 
rifle,  would  just  be  at  the  expense  of  so  much  ink  and  paper, 
for  no  one  would  believe  one  word  of  the  touchingly  thrilling 
tales.  As  to  my  studied  flirtations  with  all  and  sundry  that 
came  in  my  way,  until ''  caught  at  last "  by  one  of  the  sweet- 
est, loveliest,  and  most  bewitching  creatures  that  ever  set  her 
cap  to  entrap  and  conquer  a  son  of  Mars,  or  of  the  mad  devo- 
tion and  rapturous  love  which  filled  my  enchanted  soul,  like 
some  luxurious  syren  melody;  what  my  dulcet  charmer 
softly  whispered  to  me,  and  what  I,  drunk  with  love,  sweet 
chanted  in  reply,  all  this,  I  very  well  know,  my  fair  readers 
at  least — who  of  all  others,  I  am  most  anxious  to  please  and  to 
gratify — ^would  skim  over  so  quickly  and  impatiently  that,  for 
any  interest  they  take  in  the  matter,  I  might  as  well  not  have 
troubled  either  myself  or  them  with  the  egotistic  and  tedious 
narrative. 

It  is  said,  and  said  truly,  ''  Faint  heart  never  gained  fair 
lady ;  **  for  this,  the  simplest  and  best  of  all  reasons,  that 
the  dear  creatures  hate,  above  all  things,  puling  sentiment- 
alism  and  child-like  trifling,  almost  invariably  preferring  the 
man  who  boldly  and  firmly  goes  at  once  to   the  points 


378  STRATHMOBS :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 


Keeinng  still,  tberefoTe,  the  good  opinion,  as  well  as  the  good 
wishes  of  my  fair  readers  distinctly  in  view,  I  shall  at  once 
proceed  to  the  culminating  parts  of  my  philosophical  narratiye, 
by  the  announcement  of  my  safe  arriyal  from  India,  coupled 
with  an  invitation  (to  a  limited  number  of  course)  to  take 
tea  at  my  snug,  semi-detached  villa  at  Chelsea,  that  justly 
celebrated  paradise  of  old  Indians,  although  if  I  had  got  my 
own  way  in  the  matter,  I  would  vastly  have  preferred  a  quiet 
rural  snuggery  in  my  own  native  Howe  of  Strathmore. 
Before  making  your  appearance,  however,  I  may  as  well  warn 
you  that  I  am  still  in  my  prime,  with  neither  a  roasted  liver 
nor  a  jaundiced  cheek ;  that  I  am  married — ^yes,  married  to 
one  of  the  best  and  loveliest  of  women  in  all — ^no  matter 
where — and  that  the  olive  plants  around  my  table  are  so 
numerous,  that  I  am  sometimes  at  a  loss  to  reckon  them  up 
exactly,  especially  when  the  question  is  put  in  an  abrupt, 
thrown-off-your-guaid  sort  of  a  manner. 

Now,  I  am  quite  sure,  after  you  have  enjoyed  our  hospital- 
ity, and  whilst  sitting  in  little  whispering  groups  in  the  ante^ 
drawing-room,  you  will  be  exultingly  saying  to  one  another, 
''  What  a  charming,  kind,  loving,  and  intelligent  wife  his  own 
still  loved  Lucy  makes  to  him,  and  how  doatingly  fond  they 
seem  of  each  other !  and,  oh  I  what  ducks  of  children  to  be 
sure !    Well,  there's  nothing  like  '  First  Love '  after  all !'  ** 

And  is  not  that  the  blooming  idolised  blonde,  Lucy  Bertram  ? 
Not  a  bit  of  it  Don't  faint  for  a  few  minutes  yet,  till  I  have 
endeavoured  at  least  to  exonerate  myself ;  but  we  need  not 
speak  so  hysterically  loud,  lest  my  wife,  even  while  plajdng  a 
rattling  Indian  march  on  the  piano,  may  catch  some  distant 
sound  of  our  private  council.  That  lovely  woman,  my  law- 
fully wedded  wife  and  happy  mother  of  my  children,  is  not 
Lucy  Bertram,  my  first  love,  but  one  whom  I  wooed  and  won 
in  the  sunny  East,  and — don't  faint  just  yet — I  declare,  on  my 
honour  as  a  lover,  a  gentleman,  a  soldier,  and  an  old  Indian, 
that  I  never  knew  or  felt  what  real  love,  in  its  most  compre- 
hensive sense,  was,  until  I  met  the  woman  who  is  now  my  wife. 


FIRST  AND  LAST  LOVE.  379 

There,  now,  I  knew  how  it  would  be — ^a  rustling  of  dresses 
for  salts,  a  nervous  application  of  bottles  to  the  nose,  a  choking 
sensation  in  the  throat,  as  if  the  room  had  suddenly  become 
too  hot,  and  then  a  bustling  and  hurrying  for  bonnets  and 
shawls,  a  calling  for  cabs,  and  hastily  uttered,  abrupt,  and 
querulous  good  nights,  until  the  last  fair  creature  evanishes 
myth-like  at  last  from  my  wondering  sight 

Now,  this  is  not  giving  me  what  vulgarly,  yet  emphatically, 
I  may  be  permitted  to  call  fair  play,  and  I  must  trast  to  the 
sequel  for  my  explanation  and  exoneration. 

My  wife  and  I  were  seated  in  our  cozy  drawing-room  on 
the  evening  immediately  succeeding  the  above  '^ untoward" 
event,  when  the  servant  entered  with  a  gilt-edged,  nicely- 
sealed  note,  opening  which  without  noticing  to  whom  it  was 
addressed,  I  read  as  follows : — 

"  Wedded  Love  Cottage, 
Brompton,  20th  December,  18 — . 

"Mrs  Augustus  Lovelace  presents  compliments  to  Mrs 
Brigadier  Constance.  Mrs  Lovelace  would  be  glad  if  Mr  and 
Mrs  Constance  would  join  her  Christmas  party  on  Wednesday 
evening  next,  the  25th  inst.,  at  seven  o'clock. " 

''Mrs  Augustus  Lovelace!"  I  exclaimed,  handing  the  note 
to  my  wife,  who  had  managed  previously,  however,  to  read 
every  word  of  it  over  my  shoulder. 

"  Yes,"  coolly  replied  my  wife ;  "  Mrs  Augustus  Lovelace- 
some  old  acquaintance  or  friend  of  yours,  my  love,  for  to  me 
the  name  is  quite  unknown.  But  you  are  pale,  my  dear; 
don't  go  to  your  Club  to-night  if  you  feel  unwell. " 

I  forget  what  reasons  I  gave,  or  what  excuses  I  made,  for 
my  apparently  sudden  indisposition,  or  whether  I  proffered  or 
received  the  customary  salute  previous  to  my  shutting  the 
front  door  behind  me.  I  only  remember  of  coming  somewhat 
to  my  senses  when  about  half-way  to  the  United  Service 
Club,  whither  I,  for  the  first  time,  supposed  I  was  bound. 

Who  does  my  Cair  reader  imagine  this  Mrs  Augustus 
Lovelace  to  be  ?     Why,  none  other  than  my  first  love,  Lucy 


380  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Bertram;  and  living  with  her  husband  and  fSunily,  too,  in 
the  immediate  neighbournood  of  my  own  cherished  snuggery ! 
What  was  to  be  done  9  Commit  suicide  in  the  Green  Park, 
of  course !  That,  I  admits  was  my  first  magnanimous  resolve ; 
but  then  I  recollected  I  had  neither  rifle,  pistol,  or  stiletto, 
with  me,  and  I  scorned  to  think  of  cowardly  dying  by 
laudanum,  strychnine,  or  prussic  acid,  even  although  the  wary 
chemist  would  sell  me  any  where-with  to  ''poison  rats,"  or 
such  small  deer.  The  thoughts  of  my  unsuspecting  spouse 
and  little  Brigadiers  at  home  transplanted  these  war-like 
aspirations  on  my  part,  especially  as  I  had  now  reached  Con- 
stitution Hill,  and  was  within  a  furlong  of  the  veritable  Green 
Park  itself.  The  gates  were  fortunately  shut  for  the  night — 
a  very  wise  precaution,  I  now  felt.  I  had  no  alternative  but 
to  fight  my  way  through  Piccadily,  the  never-ceasing  throng 
on  the  pave,  and  the  rolling  carriages  on  the  roadway — 
rather  pleasing  to  me  than  otherwise — assisting,  as  they 
unconsciously  did,  to  minister  to  a  mind  diseased,  and  drive 
away  that  melancholy  sadness  which  seemed  now  settling  on 
my  stricken,  self-condemned  souL  Long  before  I  had  reached 
St  James  Street — to  me  the  finest  and  most  interesting  street 
in  London — my  mind  had  undergone  all  the  agonising 
tortures  of  self-reproach  and  stinging  remorse,  musing,  as  I 
did,  on  my  dastardly  and  unfeeling  conduct  in  betraying  such 
an  innocent,  confiding,  and  truthful  creature  as  my  own  dear 
Lucy — ^she  whom  I  had  sworn  to  make  my  own,  the  chaste 
moon  my  priestess,  and  all  the  stars  of  the  firmament  my 
witnesses  1  How  changed  I  must  have  become  even  in  a  few 
years  after  my  arrival  in  India^  for  every  day  and  month  and 
year  were  slowly,  gradually,  yet,  alas  1  soo  surely,  obliterating 
every  remnant  and  particle  of  love  in  my  heart,  so  that,  after 
the  lapse  of  some  years,  when  I  read  in  the  Times  the  glowing 
account  of  her  marriage,  so  cool  and  indifferent  was  I  that,  in- 
stead of  a  tear  of  grief  filling  my  eyelids,  a  low  chuckling 
laugh  actually  profaned  my  lips,  as  I  inwardly  congratulated 
myself  on  my  escape— for  she  having  married  first,  all  my 


FIRST  AND  LAST  LOVE.  381 

TOWS  and  engagements  went,  of  course,  to  the  winds.  On 
passing  the  Clubs  in  St  James  Street,  I  had  worked  myself 
up  to  a  pretty  pitch  of  excitement,  and  nothing  would  satisfy 
my  tortured  and  awakened  conscience  but  a  long,  solemn 
declaration,  sworn  before  one  of  Her  Majesty's  Justices  of  the 
Peace,  of  my  unpalliated  and  enormous  crime,  and  a  meek 
submission  to  undergo  any  punishment,  short  of  death  or 
penal  servitude,  which  my  dignified  inamorata  might  be  pleased 
to  inflict!  Slowly  pacing  over  the  now  silent  and  dreary 
Mall,  my  thoughts  now  taking  another  dismal  turn,  I  pictured 
to  myself  the  many  weary  days  and  sleepless  nights  she  had 
patiently  and  martyr-like  endured  on  account  of  the  treachery 
of  her  false  lover,  until,  afker — ^though  willing — she  could  weep 
no  more,  she  had,  either  out  of  spite,  or  in  dutiful  obedience 
to  parental  authority,  given  her  hand,  but  not  her  hearty  to 
some  shrivelled  shrunken  old  Indian  major,  quite  unworthy  of 
such  a  treasure.  Then,  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  as  I  crossed  over 
Waterloo  Place,  I  thought  of  her  present  misery,  and  wedded 
unhappiness,  still  thinking  of  her  false  lover,  and  of  all  that 
lovingly  passed  at  our  last  interview,  and  ever  wondering 
whether  I  had  preserved  that  precious  locket — ^that  often- 
kissed  and  fondled  ringlet — but  I  had  now  fairly  reached  my 
Club,  and  so,  with  a — ^' Beast  that  I  am,"  I  disappeared  under 
its  portico  1 

The  fatal  twenty-fifth  came  duly  round,  and,  having  finished 
my  toilet,  I  was  in  the  act  of  unfolding  a  little.packet  which 
I  had  just  taken  from  a  private  drawer  in  my  own  escritoire, 
when  the  voice  of  my  beloved,  behind  me,  rather  pettishly 
said — ''  My  dearest  Edmund,  we  shall  be  too  late  if  you  don't 
make  haste — well,  a  charming  little  locket,  I  declare — just 
let  me  see  what  it  is  like — 0  !  what  a  love  of  a  jewel,  to  be 
sure — and  a  ringlet  of  such  beautiftd  hair  inside,  too,  wreathed 
tastefully  in  the  form  of  forget-me-not — ^why,  this  must  have 
been  a  precious  keepsake  from  some  of  your  old  sweethearts, 
Edmundl" 

While  my  wife  was  thus  speaking,  partly  to  herself  and 


382  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

partly  to  me,  I  had  been  attentively  watching  the  expressioB 
of  her  features ;  bat,  not  detecting  the  most  remote  shadow 
of  jealousy  or  chagrin,  I  thought  I  would  be  quite  safe  in  at 
least  cautiously  replying  in  the  monosyllable — "  Yes  I "  This, 
seeming  to  have  no  deadly  effect,  at  least  for  the  moment,  I, 
after  some  excusable  hesitation,  added — 

"  And  what  would  you  think,  or  do,  my  dear,  if  this  old 
sweetheart  was  none  other  than  this  veritable  Mrs  Augustus 
Lovelace,  to  whose  Christmas  party  we  are  this  evening 
invited  9 "  Although  well  aware  of  the  strength  of  nerve 
and  mind  with  which  my  wife  had  happily  been  endowed,  I 
did,  however,  in  very  truth,  expect  a  "scene,"  but  I  was 
quickly  undeceived  by  her  half-laughing,  half-earnest  reply — 

'*  Why,  I  should  think  the  more  of  her,  certainly,  seeing 
you  had  once  been  one  of  her  admirers,  and  do  her  all  the 
kind  offices  I  possibly  could  as  a  neighbour  and  a  friend — 
come,  I  am  all  anxiety  and  impatience  to  make  her  acquaint- 
ance." 

Arrived  at  our  destination,  my  nervousness  and  remorse  ol 
conscience  again  returned  with  redoubled  vigour,  so  that 
while  my  wife  was  being  shown  up  stairs,  I  tottered  after 
the  servant  to  the  drawing-room  door,  more  like  a  criminal 
on  whom  the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law  was  just  about  to  be 
inflicted,  than  an  invited  guest  to  a  happy  Christmas  dinner 
party. 

"  Mr  Constance  I "  said  the  servant,  duly  ushering  me  into 
the  splendid  drawing-room. 

'^  Ah  !  Mr  Constance,  how  are  you  ? "  said  a  fine,  comely- 
looking  matron,  advancing  to  greet  me  with  one  of  the  most 
bewitching  and  insinuating  smiles  which  ever  lighted  up  the 
angel  face  of  woman. 

"  Mrs  Lovelace,  I  presume  ? '' 

"  0  !  I  see  you  have  quite  forgotten  me  ! " 

This,  however,  was  said  with  such  an  abandon  of  manner, 
and  amidst  such  hearty  laughter,  that  I  refrained  from  mak- 
ing my  confession  just  yet,  especially  as  the  last  sentence  was 


FIRST  AND  LAST  LOVE.  383 

quickly  followed  by  another  from  her  rich  AiU  lips,  still  more 
damning  to  my  accusing  conscience — 

"  My  husband  will  be  with  us  presently.  He  will  be  so 
glad  to  make  your  acquaintance.'' 

As  we  were  still  in  the  room  alone,  I  was  just  about 
beginning  a  nice  little  previously-concocted  speech,  having 
special  bearing  and  reference  to  our  early  years,  when  she 
provokingly  asked  me,  in  the  most  winning  and  tender  terms, 
after  the  welfare  of  my  wife  and  children,  and,  without  giving 
me  time  to  reply,  she  added  : — 

"  You  would  like  to  see  my  children,  I'm  sure.  I  used  to 
be  very  fond,  you  know,  of  keep-sake  ornaments  in  my  youth, 
but  now,  I  am  like  the  famous  Cornelia,  daughter  of  tiie  great 
Scipio,  who  when  importuned  by  a  lady  of  her  acquaintance 
to  shew  her  toilet,  she  deferred  satisfying  her  curiosity  till 
her  children,  who  were  the  famous  Gracchi,  came  from  school, 
and  then  said.  ^  En  I  haec  omamenta  mea  suni,^ — "  These  are 
my  ornaments."  Oh,  here  they  come !  Mr  Constance,  my 
dears." 

This  was  nearly  too  much  for  me ;  but  I  managed  to  get 
over  the  ceremony  of  embracing  and  fondling  some  half-dozen 
second  editions  of  their  mother  pretty  well,  and  was  at  last 
beginning  to  feel  the  full  force  of  the  conviction  that  things 
were  not  so  bad  after  all,  when  my  equilibrium  of  mind  was 
doomed  once  more  to  be  disturbed  by  the  half-whispered 
remark  of  Lucy  the  younger  to  her  mother,  that  she  thought 
"  Mr  Constance  was  crying  1 " 

Just  at  this  moment,  however,  a  hale,  hearty  aldermanio- 
like  personage,  having  all  the  air  of  a  " City"  man,  smilingly 
entered  the  room. 

^*  My  husband.    Mr  Constance." 

Mr  Lovelace  shook  me  most  heartily  by  the  hand,  express- 
ing the  very  great  pleasure  he  felt  in  making  my  acquaintance, 
congratulating  me  on  my  safe  arrival  in  my  native  land  after 
so  long  absence,  reiterating  the  pleasure  and  delight  he  felt 
that  I  had  taken  up  my  residence  in  his  own  immediate 


384  8TRATHM0BS :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

neighbourhood,  and  at  the  pleasing  prospect  of  the  friendly 
interchange  of  courtesies  between  the  two  families. 

The  company  now  began  to  arrive,  and  in  the  general  con- 
yersation  which  ensued,  I  felt  my  spirits  rising  again  to  their 
usual  height,  and  Lucy — ^I  mean — ^Mrs  Lovelace — and  I 
chatted  away  about  anything  and  everjrthing,  except  our  early 
loves,  or  broken  vows,  or  present  unhappiness. 

Dinner  announced,  Mr  Lovelace  asked  me  in  the  blandest 
manner  possible  to  lead  to  the  dining-room  the  mistress  of 
the  house,  which  I  most  gallantly  did,  sat  at  her  right  hand 
during  dinner,  did  the  amiable  in  the  most  approved  style  of 
the  West  End,  and  again  led  her  up  to  the  drawing-room, 
where  the  young  people  had  already  assembled,  to  conclude 
with  the  merry  dance  the  festivities  of  the  evening. 

To  make  the  narrative  complete,  I  may  as  well  add  that  I 
was  actually  Mrs  Lovelace's  partner  in  the  first  quadrille,  her 
dutiful  husband  and  Mrs  Constance  being  the  opposite  couple, 
and  that  what  took  place  beneath  the  mistletoe  was  just  that 
which  usually  occurs  either  when  old  or  young  pass  under  the 
enchanted  bough. 

Many  years  have  passed  away  since  then,  and  my  wife  and 
Mrs  Lovelace  have  been  bosom  friends  ever  since,  while  Mr 
Lovelace  and  I  have  had  many  a  quiet  rubber  together  in  each 
other's  houses,  always  winding  up  with  a  modicum  of  warm 
cognac,  drinking  each  other^s  good  health,  as  well  as  that  of 
our  wives  (when  present)  with  all  the  gusto  and  warmth  of 
old,  attached  friends. 

I  stated  at  the  outset  how  much  I  disliked  long  introduc- 
tions, and  now  add  in  conclusion,  that  I  have  an  equal  aver- 
sion to  what  is  popularly  called  '^ pointing"  the  moral  of  a 
tale.  My  opinion  has  always  been  that  if  a  tale  be  worth  the 
paper  on  which  it  is  written  it  ought  to  carry  its  moral  along 
with  it,  not  requiring  any  formal  or  studied  ''  application  "  of 
the  subject 

I  should  now,  therefore,  finally  conclude  with  the  simple 
yet  comprehensive  words^  **  Second  thoughts  are  best,"  were 


FIRST  AND  LAST  LOVE.  385 

it  not  I  overhear  some  of  my  fair  readers  doubtingly  whisper, 
''  Depend  upon  it^  these  old  lovers — especially  the  lady — ^were 
simply  playing  a  part,  affecting  indifference  to,  and  non-remem- 
brance of,  former  days,  while  their  real  feelings  had  actuaUy 
undergone  no  change,  being  in  point  of  fact,  as  strong  and 
sensitive  as  ever." 

Now,  I  frankly  admit  this  is  not  only  the  poetic  view  of 
the  subject,  but  that  true,  pure,  and  first  heart-love  knows  no 
decay ;  and  had  I  been  writing  a  novel,  most  certainly  there 
would  have  been  a  suicide,  or  a  murder,  or  some  other  dread 
catastrophe  amongst  my  characters  long  before  this  time. 
But  as  I  am  not  writing  a  romance,  but  a  story  of  real  life,  I 
must  not  colour  my  narrative  at  the  expense  of  truth,  nor 
sacrifice  domestic  felicity  at  the  shrine  of  wedded  love. 
Eather  allow  me  to  refer  to  the  only  witness,  besides  myself, 
who  can  by  any  possibility  unravel  the  mystery.  Mrs  Love- 
lace still  lives,  a  happy  wife  and  mother,  in  her  semi-detached 
villa  at  Brompton ;  and  sure  I  am,  when  she  reads  these  lines, 
her  evidence  will  coincide  in  every  important  particular  with 
my  own — ^the  gist  of  the  whole  simply  amounting  to  this,  that 
in  spite  of  ourselves,  the  feelings  of  love  we  once  entertained 
for  each  other  gradually  and  imperceptibly,  without  reasons 
asked,  given,  or  assigned,  died  completely  and  for  ever  away, 
giving  place  to  a  deeper,  higher,  and  holier  affection,  which 
neither  time  nor  death  can  ever  destroy,  exemplifying  the 
grand  difference  between  love  as  a  passion  and  love  as  a  deep- 
seated  feeling  of  the  heart. 


2  B 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A  sister's  LOVl?. 

"  Calm  on  the  bosom  of  thy  God, 
Fair  spirit !  rest  thee  now  1 
E'er  while  with  oars  thy  footsteps  trod, 
His  seal  was  on  thy  brow. 

^  Dust  to  its  naiTow  house  beneath  ! 
Soul  to  its  place  on  high  ! 
They  that  have  seen  thy  look  in  death, 
No  more  may  fear  to  die." 

Mn  Hemavs 

I  ALWAYS  wished  I  had  had  a  sister ;  the  very  name  "  sister  " 
lias  such  a  charm  about  it  of  sweetness,  and  purity,  and 
beauty,  and  love !  How,  I  thought  from  boyhood,  I  should 
have  tended,  adored,  and  loved  an  only  sister !  I  used  to 
think,  to  muse,  to  dream  of,  yea,  petition,  beseech,  and  pray 
for  a  little  sister,  not  only  to  share  in  my  youthful  pleasures 
and  amusements,  but  to  partake  of  my  ardent  affection,  my 
deep-seated,  yearning,  devoted  love.  The  wish  became  in 
time  a  passion,  so  that  everything  in  nature,  every  event  of 
providence,  was  hallowed  by  the  precious,  mysterious  unction 
of  a  sister's  love,  which  imagination  governed,  subdued,  and 
sweetened  every  emotion  of  the  soul,  every  affection  of  the 
heart,  until  I  lived  a  new  existence  of  elevated,  inspired 
aspirations. 

Pretty  little  sister, 

Art  thou  far  away, 
That  thou  dost  not  hear  me 

Calliug  thee  all  day  ? 


A  SISTER'S  LOVE.  387 

Art  thou  in  the  simshine, 

Glancing^  on  the  streamBy 
Crystalline  bright  sunbeam, 

lighting  all  mj  dreams  ? 

Art  thou  in  the  rosebud, 

(hemmed  with  morning  dew, 
Peeping  out  so  slyly. 

While  I  wait  for  you  f 

Art  thou  with  the  skylark. 

Chanting  in  the  sky. 
While  on  earth  I  listen 

Thy  sweet  minstrelsy  ? 

Art  thou  in  the  welkin, 

Glist'ning  like  a  star, 
While  all  night  I'm  weeping, 

Wond'ring  where  you  are  ? 

Art  thou  like  an  angel. 

Bright  with  sunny  wings, 
Crowns  and  sceptres  golden. 

Harps  of  sweetest  strings  ? 

Pretty  little  sister, 

I  oan  weep  no  more  ; 
Shall  we  meet  in  hearen, 

If  not  on  earth  before  ? 

Come,  sweet  little  sister. 

Nestle  in  my  breast, 
Songs  of  welcome  greeting — 

Softly  be  at  rest. 

My  strange  yet  ardent  wish  was  at  length  realised.  I  was 
just  turned  twelve  when  another  member  was  added  to  our 
already  numerous  family.  No  one  was  more  really  interested 
in  all  the  preliminary  stages  of  preparation  for  the  long- 
looked-for  event,  and  no  one  more  assiduously  watched  the 
mysterious  movements  and  whispered  instructions  of  "Nursy  " 
than  myself  And  when  at  last  the  announcement  was  made 
that  it  was  "  a  girl,"  my  heart  leapt  within  me  for  very  joy, 
and  I  experienced  all  the  joyous  feeling  and  hallowed  delight 
which  those  only  can  feel  and  experience  who  have  courag- 


'^1 


y 


388  STBATHMORS  :  JIS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

eooaly  and  oonfidingly  hoped  against  hope,  and  Inztuiatod  at 
last  in  the  foil  fimition  of  realised  felicity. 

I  had  seen  some  of  my  yonnger  brothers  brought  into  the 
parlour  by  the  obsequions,  pawky  nurse,  and  heard  aU  the 
smiling  remarks  which  nsnally  accompany  snch  a  gift ;  bnt  I 
was  more  than  enraptured  now  when  the  pretty  sleeping  babe 
was  softly  pnt  into  my  aims,  and  the  kind,  sweet  voice  of 
my  fiMher  bade  me  kiss  my  little  sister! 

Daring  the  hapless  years  of  infancy,  litde  Margaerette  was 
pretty  much  like  other  babies- fretting,  and  faming,  and 
crying,  teething  and  sickening,  and  getting  better  again ;  but 
when  at  length  able  to  ran  about,  and  notice,  and  talk,  it 
was  evident  that  a  superior  intelligence  had  been  implanted 
in  the  child,  and  that  a  marked  and  peculiar  spiritualism 
characterised  all  her  actions.  As  for  myself,  I  seemed  but  to 
live  for  her,  attentively  watching  every  movement  of  the 
body,  and  hailing  with  delight  eveiy  intelligent  manifestation 
of  the  mind.  I  was  more  concerned  for  her  comfort  and 
happiness,  than  for  my  own,  frequently,  nay  often,  sacrificing 
personal  ease  and  convenience  of  every  land,  to  minister  to 
the  wants,  real  and  otherwise,  of  her  I  valued  more  than  life 
itself  These  feelings  seemed  returned  on  her  part  by  a 
thousand  little  attentions,  trivial  in  themselves,  and  unob- 
servable  by  others,  yet  precious  and  sweet  to  me,  as  the  early 
germs  of  a  sister's  holy  love. 

By  the  time  she  was  able  to  go  to  school,  I  wished  I  had 
been  even  older  and  stronger  than  I  was,  that  I  might  have 
been  the  more  able  to  protect  and  defend  her  frx)m  all  danger, 
imaginary  and  otherwise.  As  it  was,  |my  martial  prowess 
was  not  long  in  being  called  into  requisition,  and  the  only 
fight  in  which  I  was  ever  engaged  was  in  her  defence.  It 
turned  out  on  investigation  that  no  offence  had  been  com- 
mitted ;  but  I  ever  afterwards  admired  the  manly  bravery 
and  independent  spirit  displayed  by  the  noble  boy  who,  when 
charged  by  me  with  the  imaginary  insult,  indignantly  denied 
the  impeachment,  yet  boldly  added — 


A  SISTER'S  LOVE.  *       389 

''Ton  have  insulted  me  by  making  such  a  charge.  I 
challenge  you  to  make  reparation." 

Nothing  loth,  we  did  fight,  and  that  bravely,  too,  and 
although  I  was,  after  a  most  determined  contest,  declared  the 
victor,  I  felt  truly  ashamed  of  myself,  and  refused  to  wear 
the  proffered  laureL  The  consequence  was,  that,  so  long  as  I 
remained  at,  and  afterl  had  left,  the  parochial  school  of  Glamis, 
and,  indeed,  until  my  sbter's  removal  to  Edinburgh  some 
years  afterwards,  Marguerette  had  no  braver  defender,  or 
more  ardent  admirer,  than  young  Bichard  Gordon. 

What  sweet  walks  were  those  along  the  byepath,  through 
fragrant  fields  and  by  the  pine-wooded  Hunter  Hill  skirting 
the  little  mountain  streamlet  which  sung  its  low  quiet  song  in 
peaceful  harmony  with  the  wild-wood  minstrelsy  of  the  happy 
birds/  and  how  pure  and  holy  our  thoughts  and  imaginings 
as  we  seated  ourselves  on  the  sunny  bank,  just  midway  be- 
tween our  father's  farm  and  the  parish  school.  Poets  may 
sing  of  the  thrilling  ecstacies  and  luxurious  emotions  of  first 
love  as  they  may,  but  the  holy  sweetness  and  heavenly  joy  of 
a  sister's  love  is  something  very  different,  and  more  akin  to 
the  love  of  angels  in  Paradise,  than  any  sentiment  or  feeling 
of  which  the  human  mind  is  susceptible. 

Marguerette  was  now  thirteen  years  of  age,  and  as  we  took 
our  last  walk  together  on  the  evening  preceding  my  departure 
for  college,  a  sympathetic  sadness  settled  heavily  on  our  spirits, 
and  we  talked  but  little  by  the  way  until  arriving  at  our  usual 
resting-place  to  and  from  school,  when  I  suddenly  thus  ad- 
dressed my  sister : — 

**Do  you  think  you  will  ever  die,  Marguerette)"  My 
question,  although  strangely  abrupt,  did  not  seem  to  disconcert 
her,  but  calmly  asking  me  to  gather  some  of  the  few  remain- 
ing anemones,  the  last  remnants  of  autumnal  wildflowers,  she 
seated  herself  on  a  little  verdant  knoll,  while  I  gathered  and 
brought  to  her  the  now  leaf-closed  flowers. 

«<  Brother,"  she  began  softly,  '^I  am  not  startled  by  your 
question.    I  know  it  proceeds  from  a  vain,  yet  natural  wishi 


390  STRATHMOBB :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

that  I  might  be  always  with  you — just  your  little  sister 
Marguerette  as  I  am  now.  But  this  cannot  be,  my  brother. 
You  see  these  sweet  anemones,  their  white  star-like  leaves 
closed  for  the  night  How  beautiful  they  were  in  the  morn- 
ing ;  and  yet  no  sooner  does  the  sun  withdraw  his  light  than 
they  close  their  leaves  in  darkness.  I  feel  my  course  on  this 
earth,  brother,  will  be  equally  shorty  with  this  difference,  that 
though  I  shut  my  eyes  in  death,  I  shall  open  them  in  a  happy 
eternity,  for  '^  Though  after. my  skin  worms  destroy  this  body, 
yet  in  my  flesh  shall  I  see  God." 

I  looked  at  the  beautiful  creature  before  me,  all  radiant  with 
healthful  bloom,  her  chestnut  ringlets  flowing  luxuriantly  down 
her  silvery  neck,  and  her  eyes,  of  sweet  celestial  blue,  beam- 
ing with  an  intense  angelic  intelligence ;  and  then,  musing  on 
the  deeply-touching  and  solemn  tones  in  which  she  had  just 
spoken,  I  wondered  whether  death  would  be  so  cruel  as  chimge 
that  lovely  countenance,  and  silence  that  silvery  voice,  send- 
ing her  away  to  the  dark  and  silent  land  from  whence  she 
would  not  return. 

"You  leave  to-morrow,  my  brother,"  she  resumed,  "but  I 
feel  we  shall  meet  again  ere  I  depart  hence  and  be  no  more 
as  to  this  world.  But  look  not  sad ;  I  am  just  going  home  a 
very  short  time  before,  to  welcome  you  the  more  gladly  when 
you  come.  We  shall  never  part  again,  brother,  then;  for 
there  is  no  sorrow  nor  death  where  I  am  going,  but  all  is 
happiness  and  everlasting  life. " 

The  session  at  College  passed  away,  and,  although  anxious 
to  return  home,  I  had  to  attend  some  private  classes  prepara- 
tory to  my  entering  the  Divinity  HalL  My  private  studies 
had  brought  me  to  the  beginning  of  June,  at  which  time, 
while  preparing  to  proceed  homewards,  I  received  a  letter  firom 
my  father  intimating  that,  as  Marguerette  had  been  rather 
unwell  for  some  weeks  previously,  he  had  determined  on  re- 
moving her  for  a  short  time  to  Portobello  for  a  change  of  air, 
and  requesting  me  to  meet  them  on  the  arrival  of  the  morning 
coach  in  Princes  Street  on  the  following  day.     I  had  often 


A  SISTER'S  LOVE.  391 

mused,  in  my  louely  lodging-house  in  the  meadows,  on  the 
\ast  conversation  between  Marguerette  and  myself,  and  had 
bng  ago  prepared  my  mind  for  the  worst ;  and  now  a  strange 
iresentiment  took  possession  of  my  mind  that  her  end  was 
iideed  approaching,  and  that  I  should  soon  call  her  by  the 
eidearing  name  of  sister  no  more. 

I  need  not  say  how  anxiously  I  awaited  next  day  the  arrival  of 
tie  coach  from  the  North,  and  how  rapturously  I  embraced  my 
bloved    sister,  without,  however,  making   any  particular 
mquiries  after  the  state  of  her  health,  fearful  to  anticipate  the 
Awful  trutL    Whether  it  was  from  being  flushed  and  healthful- 
looking  on  account  of  her  journey,  or  from  my  own  innate 
unwillingness  to  beUeve  she  was  otherwise  than  when  we  last 
parted,  I  was  altogether  deceived  by  the  freshness  of  her  looks 
and  the  full,  cheerful,  silvery  ring  of  her  musical  voice ;  and, 
as  we  proceeded  in  an  open  carriage  on  our  way  through  the 
beautiful  streets  of  Edinburgh,  she  pointed  out  and  talked  of 
all  the  interesting  objects  which  everywhere  met  our  view — 
the  luxuriant  gardens  and  lofty  castle  on  our  right,  with  the 
towering  antique  buildings  of  the  old  town  bristling  away  on 
the  ridge  of  the  hill,  tiU  lost  to  view  in  the  precincts  of  Holy- 
rood  ;  the  long  range  of  Princes  Street  buildings,  with  their 
splendid,  gaily  decorated  shops,  and  busy  throng  of  idlers, 
on  our  lefb — ^together  with  the  palatial-like  terraces  of  Water- 
loo Place,  with  the  renowned  Calton  Hill,  adorned  with 
monuments  to  the  brave,  the  learned,  and  the  wise,  and  the 
lofty,  perpendicular  ridges  of  Salisbury  Crags,  and  the  green 
verdant  summit  of  Arthur's  Seat ;  the  palace  of  the  unfortun- 
ate Stuarts  nestling  at  our  feet.    Then,  again,  when  we  came 
in  view  of  the  beautiful  bay,  with  its  bright  golden  sands  and 
silvery  waves  hemmed  in  on  either  side  by  verdurous,  sunny 
hills,  with  the  great  heaving  ocean  beyond  carrying  on  its 
troubled  bosom  the  fisherman's  tiny  boat  and  the  merchant's 
gallant  ship,  its  huge  rolling  billows  breaking  into  white 
feathery  spray,  with  a  never-ceasing  moan,  she  stood  up  in 
the  carriage  and  clapped  her  little  hands  in  a  perfect  ecstacy 
of  rapturous  joy. 


392  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

The  next  day  we  walked  together  on  the  beautiful  sands 
opposite  PortobellOy  listening  to  the  soft  music  of  the  rippling 
wares,  blended  with  the  loud  gushing  song  of  the  restless  shylarlr 
far,  far  overhead  in  the  golden  sky.  We  had  walked  a  con* 
siderable  distance^  when  I  unfolded  the  portable  seat  I  hac 
brought  with  me  for  her  convenience,  and,  seating  ourselves 
together,  I  ventured  to  ask  whether  she  felt  better  by  thi 
change. 

^'That  implies,  dear  brother,"  she  said,  ''that  I  had  beei 
ilL  But  I  really  feel  no  pain;  just  a  curious,  strange 
mysterious  wasting  away,  my  mind  sympathising  with  anc 
partaking  of  the  feeling — ^with  this  difference,  that  my  soul 
seems  ever  blending  with  some  other  spiritual  thing  more  pure, 
more  holy  than  itsel£" 

Then,  abruptly  turning  her  face,  and  fixing  her  long-lashed 
spiritual  eyes  on  mine,  she  gaily  said — 

<<Do  you  know  any  change  in  me  since  we  last  met,  dear 
brother  V 

^'  The  only  change  I  know,  my  dear  sister,  is  that  you  are 
lovelier  and  dearer  to  me  than  ever." 

''  That  I  doubt  not,  brother ;  but  there  may  be  a  worm  at 
the  root  of  the  gourd,  and  it  may  perish  in  a  night.  These 
sweet,  soft  winds,  which  sweep  with  their  honied  lips  the 
bosom  of  the  sea,  white-cresting  bright  the  idle  wavelets  as 
they  gently  break  on  the  tawny  sands,  bracing  and  invigorat- 
ing to  my  flushed  and  feverish  cheeks,  come  fresh  and  fragrant 
from  the  hiUs  of  Paradise. " 

"  My  dear  Marguerette,  you  already  speak  the  language  of 
heaven." 

*' Yes ;  and  feel,  even  now,  a  foretaste  of  its  pleasures.  As 
we  sit  on  the  sands  of  this  beautiful  bay,  do  you  not  exhale  the 
odour  and  hear  the  solemn  sound  of  the  distant  sea  ?  So  -do  I 
exhale  the  perfumes  of  the  celestial  fields,  and  listen  to  the 
hymning  songs  of  the  Biver  of  God.  But  the  cold  night 
breezes  are  coming  on,  dear  brother;  wrap  this  plaid  around 
my  shoulders,  and  let  us  go." 


A  sister's  love.  393 

Next  day  we  prolonged  our  walk  to  Musselburgh,  the  quiet 
abode  of  the  gentle  "Delta,"  her  loved  and  favourite  bard. 
He  was  not  at  home,  however,  when  we  called,  and  we  were 
about  returning  by  the  sands  again,  when  her  eye  caught 
the  tapering  spire  of  Inveresk  Church.  I  explained  to  her  the 
historical  associations  connected  with  the  spot,  which,  how- 
ever, did  not  seem  to  interest  her  much,  her  mind  being  ap- 
parently occupied  with  a  train  of  thought  altogether  alien  to 
the  subject  in  hand. 

''Dear  brother,"  she  anxiously  said,  at  length,  "I  have  a 
great  desire  to  visit  that  beautiful  church  and  burial  ground. 
Do  come  and  see  them." 

''But,  my  dear  sister,"  I  affectionately  replied,  "you  forget 
the  distance  we  are  from  home,  and  you  must  already  feel 
fatigued  by  your  long  walk." 

"  Yes,  brother ;  but  strength  comes  when  least  expected — 

'  He  gives  the  conquest  to  the  weak. 
Supports  the  famting  heart.  * 

Come,  let  us  go." 

The  church  and  burial-ground  of  Inveresk  is,  apart  alto- 
gether from  its  historical  associations,  one  of  the  most  inter- 
esting and  lovely  spots  on  the  coast.  Situate  on  a  gently 
rising  hill,  and  overlooking  the  almost  unrivalled  bay,  its  aspect 
is  at  once  picturesque  and  beautiful ;  and  as  Maiguerette  and 
I  seated  ourselves  on  one  of  the  green  hillocks,  and  looked 
admiringly  on  the  splendid  panorama  of  sea  and  land  which 
smilingly  spread  itself  out  before  us,  she  gently  put  her  hand 
in  mine,  whispering  solemnly,  yet  sweetly- 

"  Dear  brother,  I  dearly  love  my  own  church  and  churchyard 
of  Glamis,  with  the  green  meadows  spreading  around,  the 
bonnie  bum  meandering  by  the  village  green,  and  the  grand 
ancestral  trees  shadowing  luxuriantly  around;  but — it  is 
strange,  is  it  not — I  like  this  beautiful  spot,  brother,  looking 
out,  as  it  does,  upon  the  sea,  that  emblem  of  man's  life  on 
earth,  with  the  white  cliffs  of  some  sunny  land  like  the  hills  of 
Paradise  arising  in  dreamy  beauty  on  the  far  horizon's  voice- 


396  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDa 

meadows  by  the  Bunny  banks  of  the  slow-rolling  Dean ;  the 
Lowland  and  EQghland  sheep,  intermingling  in  good  fellow- 
ship together,  feed  lovingly  and  well  on  the  grassy  uplands 
amongst  their  numerous  progeny  of  playful,  bleating  lambs  ; 
and  the  madly  happy  birds  pour  forth  in  varied  harmony  their 
sweetly  gushing,  ever  welcome  songs  from  eveiy  blossoming 
thorn  and  green  umbrageous  bough.  And  here,  crossing  the 
leafy  lane  at  Eassie,  a  pretty,  rushing,  sparkling  rivulet  play- 
fully dances  in  its  wild  joy  along  its  rugged,  pebbly  bed  till 
lost  to  sight  amidst  the  exuberant  foliage,  its  sweetly  cherished 
sound  soon  to  be  rudely  hushed  in  the  loud  sweep  of  the 
darkly  troubled  waters  of  the  far-distant  river  beyond.  How 
I  envy  these  little  romping  boys  and  girls  paidling  in  that 
tiny  bum,  the  cheerful  glee  of  their  roystering,  merry  voicea 
breaking  sweetly  on  the  sunmier  air,  reminding  us,  with 
a  feeling  akin  to  pain,  of  our  own  innocent  and  happy 
childhood  dAjs,  and  of  those  fondly  cherished  scenes  of  love 
and  joy  and  beauty  which,  alas  !  can  never,  never  more 
return! 

There,  on  our  right,  still  stand  the  mouldering  ruins  of  the 
old  church  of  Eassie.  With  its  uncouth,  forbidding  form,  ita 
low,  bleak,  and  cheerless  walls,  and  its  damp,  uneven  earthen 
floor  set  several  feet  beneath  the  surrounding  surface,  what  a 
miserable,  uncongenial  place  in  which  to  worship  the  great 
Creator  of  the  universe  it  must  have  been !  And  yet,  not 
half  a  century  ago,  the  poor  parishioners  had  no  fitter  shrine 
in  which  to  offer  up  their  homage  and  praise  to  the  Most 
High  Almighty  God  1  Thanks  to  the  taste  and  spirit  of  the 
age,  a  higher,  nobler,  holier  feeling  has  arisen  in  our  midst. 
No  longer  content  to  worship  God  in  dreary,  gloomy  bams, 
or  inappropriately  ftimished  wretched  hovels,  the  present 
generation  are  distinguishing,  if  not  immortalising  themselves 
as  the  successful  pioneers  of  a  new  order  of  things,  and 
churches  and  temples  are  arising,  as  if  by  enchantment, 
throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land,  which  would 
do  honour  to  any  people  or  any  nation  under  the  sun. 


EASSIE  AND  EINFURNIE  HILL.  397 

Several  interesting  remains  of  antiquity  are  still  to  be  seen 
in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  the  old  church  of  Eassie. 
Not  the  least  remarkable  of  these  is  an  extensive  circular 
mound,  on  which  the  farm-house  of  Castle  Nairn  is  built 
Although  the  traces  of  a  drawbridge,  which  were  not  long 
ago  distinctly  visible,  no  longer  exist,  the  deep  and  broad 
moat  that  surrounded  it  still  remains.  Not  many  years  ago, 
a  spear-head  and  several  coins  of  Edward  I.  were  found  in  it, 
from  which  discoveries  it  has  been  concluded,  with  some 
degree  of  probability,  that  the  English  army,  under  that 
monarch,  had  occupied  this  as  a  military  position. 

Not  content,  however,  with  this,  to  them,  too  matter-of-fact, 
prosaic  conclusion,  others  of  a  more  romantic  and  superstitious 
turn  of  mind  argue  from  the  same  premises  that  this  mysteri- 
ous circular  mound,  the  ground  to  a  very  considerable  extent 
around  being  quite  flat,  must  have  direct  and  special  reference 
to  ancient  Pictish  worship,  and  deduce  from  this  assumption 
that  it  originally  was  the  sacred  receptacle  of  consecrated  cells 
for  penance  and  purification.  This  position  and  deduction 
are,  doubtless,  considerably  strengthened  by  the  arguments  in 
"  The  Doctrine  of  the  Deluge,"  by  the  Rev.  Vernon  Harcourt, 
son  of  the  late  Archbishop  of  York,  who  connects  these  and 
similar  remains  of  antiquity  with  that  great  fact  of  Scripture 
history,  and  calls  them  '^  Memorials  of  Arkite  Worship." 
These  Arkite  Memorials,  he  observes,  abound  along  the 
Grampians,  for  the  Arkite  worship  clung  most  tenaciously  to 
islands  and  mountains.  In  regard  to  this  ancient  mound, 
therefore,  both  conjectures  are  quite  reconcilable,  and  not 
inconsistent  with  each  other,  for  it  may  with  equal  truth  be 
viewed  in  the  light  of  a  military  station  and  a  *'  diluvian  " 
mount,  that  which  was  originally  intended  for  worship  being 
in  course  of  time  converted  to  war. 

Standing  near  the  old  church  of  Eassie  is  another  interest- 
ing remnant  of  antiquity — ^a  large  sculptured  stone  of  the 
same  class,  and  possessing  the  same  characteristics  as  those 
more  celebrated  pillars  at  Meigle  and  Aberlemno.    That  some 


398  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

mysteriouB,  unezplainable  affinity  exists  between  the  scalp- 
ture  of  these  monuments  and  Egyptian  symbols  must  be 
apparent  to  all  antiquarian  scholars  who  have  attentively 
studied  the  subject.  In  almost  all  of  them  the  serpent  is  the 
most  conspicuous  object,  taking,  doubtless^  its  rise  from  the 
serpent  in  Paradise  as  being  the  origin  of  serpent-worship 
everywhere;  and  thus,  as  has  been  well  observed,  ''an 
idolatrous  symbol  on  an  ancient  obelisk  becomes  an  argument 
at  once  for  the  antiquity  and  truth  of  the  Old  Testament 
Scriptures." 

Tradition  connects  this  stone  at  Eassie  with  the  death  of 
one  of  the  Boyal  family  in  Scotland.  Historical  facts, 
however,  go  far  to  disprove  this  conjectural  solution  of  the 
cause  and  purpose  of  its  erection.  The  Eassie  where  Lubach, 
great-grandson  of  Kenneth  lY.,  on  the  death  of  Macbeth,  fell 
in  battle  in  1057  defending  his  claim  against  Malcolm, 
Duncan's  eldest  son,  is  in  Strathbogie,  and  has  no  connection 
historically  or  otherwise,  with  the  parish  of  the  same  name  in 
Angusshire.  That  this  stone  commemorates  some  rite  in 
religion,  some  usage  of  the  country,  or  perpetuates  the 
memory  of  some  great  battle  or  other  important  historical 
event,  does  not  admit  of  doubt,  but  to  which  of  these  its 
symbolical  sculpture  specially  and  primarily  refers  must,  we 
fear,  for  ever  remain  an  insoluble  mystery. 

In  this  long,  bright,  summer  day,  as  we  leisurely  pursue 
our  gladsome  way  through  the  parish  of  Eassie,  let  us  enter 
one  of  those  bothies  connected  with  the  large  farms  of  the 
district,  and  judge  by  our  own  eyes  of  the  comfort  or  other- 
wise of  a  system  of  which  Gobbett  says  ''  that  it  is  a  disgrace 
to  a  civilised  country,  and,  from  the  total  want  of  comfort  and 
cleanliness,  is  ruinous  to  the  domestic  habits  of  the 
labourer." 

As  we  are  now  passing  an  isolated  farm  answering  to  this 
description,  we  shall  follow  the  ploughmen,  as,  riding  on  their 
jaded  horses  and  whistling  a  merry  tune,  they  wend  their  way 
to  partake  of  their  mid-day  meaL    Most  heartily  granted  per- 


EASSIE  AND  KINPURNIE  HILL.  399 

mission,  we  find  ourselves  in  the  centre  of  their  bothy  in  a 
twinkling,  and,  sitting  on  ricketty  three-legged  stools,  par- 
taking of  their  mde  and  simple  fare  of  chopped  potatoes,  oat- 
cake, and  skimmed  or  butter-milk.  They  kindle  their  own 
fires,  they  tell  us,  cook  their  own  victuals,  as  well  as  make 
their  own  beds,  and  their  early  morning  meal  is  the  unvary- 
ing.  conventional  brose,  made  hastily  and  without  mudi 
ceremony  by  simply  pouring  the  boiling  water  into  a  large 
wooden  cap  filled  to  die  brim  with  coarsely-ground  oatmeal, 
and  accompanied  with  as  much  good  milk  as  they  are  able  to 
swallow.  Their  dinner  is  generally  pretty  much  the  same  as 
already  described,  and  their  supper  or  evening  repast  is  either 
a  repetition  of  their  morning  meal,  or  varied  occasionally  by 
the  famous  Scotch  sowans,  mixed  with  sweet  whey  or  rich 
buttermilk,  all  partaken  of  from  their  knees,  for  tables  they 
have  none.  If  their  food  be  plain  it  is  apparently  plentiful, 
and  while  regretting  the  entire  absence  of  animal  food,  we  must 
candidly  confess  it  is  not  their  daily  fare  to  which  we  so  much 
object  as  to  the  utter  want  of  comfort  and  cleanliness  which 
p^nfully  characterises  their  miserable  dwellings.  Damp  clay 
floors,  bare  white-washed  walls,  small  darkly-lighted  windows, 
ricketty  furniture,  small  glimmering  brushwood  fires,  and 
close,  ill- ventilated  box-beds,  would,  as  they  undoubtedly  do, 
effectually  stultify  the  nutritious  effects  of  good  living,  and 
rudely  repress  the  least  approach  to  cheerfulness,  contentment, 
or  permanent  happinesa 

The  bothy  system  prevails  in  Norway  as  well  as  in  Scot- 
land, but  on  how  different  a  footing,  let  Mr  Laing,  in  his 
able  and  interesting  work,  on  that  country,  testify :  "  There 
is,"  he  says,  "  a  bothy  here,  as  in  Scotland,  called  a  '  bortstue ' 
— a  separate  house  detached  from  the  main  one,  and  better 
than  the  dwelling-houses  of  many  respectable  feumers  in 
Aberdeenshire  and  Meams,  paying  considerable  rents.  It 
consists  of  one  large  well-lighted  room  with  four  windows,  a 
good  stove  or  fire-place,  a  wooden  floor,  with  benches,  chairs, 
and  a  table.    At  the  end  is  a  kitchen,  in  which  their  victuals 


400  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

are  cooked  by  a  servant,  whose  business  it  is  to  attend  to  the 
bortstue  and  cook  for  the  people.  The  space  above  is  divided 
into  bedrooms,  each  with  a  window ;  and  the  doors  lead  into 
a  covered  gallery  open  at  the  side,  such  as  we  still  see  in  some 
of  the  old  inns  in  London,  and  in  this  gallery  the 
bed-clothes  are  hung  out  daily,  whatever  be  the  weather." 

In  our  short  intercourse  with  the  dwellers  in  the  bothy, 
you  must  have  remarked  the  difference  in  dialect  from  that 
of  the  more  northern  districts  of  Scotland.  Not  only  in 
Angus,  but  throughout  Aberdeenshire  and  Meams,  the  same 
marked  peculiarity  prevails.  This  is  accounted  for  from  the 
fact  that  these  counties  originally  formed  the  chief  part  of  the 
Pictish  nation,  being  in  consequence  less  subject  to  the 
invasion  of  the  English,  but  more  exposed  to  the  adventurous 
raids  of  the  wild  yet  chivalrous  hordes  of  the  north  of  Europa 
Dr  Jamieson,  who  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  life  in  Angus- 
shire,  thus  alludes  to  the  subject  in  his  introduction  to  his 
"  Scottish  Dictionary ; " — "  Having  resided  for  many  years  in 
the  county  of  Angus,  where  the  old  Scottish  is  spoken  with 
as  great  purity  as  anywhere  in  Great  Britain,  I  collected 
a  vast  number  of  words  unknown  in  the  southern  and 
western  dialects  of  Scotland.  Many  of  these  I  found  the 
classical  terms  in  the  language  of  Iceland,  Sweden,  and  Den- 
mark." 

After  a  very  pleasant  and  enjoyable  walk,  we  have  now 
come  in  sight  of  the  pretty  village  of  Newtyle,  nestling  in  its 
sweet,  quiet  beauty  beneath  the  friendly  shadow  of  Einpumie 
Hilly  with  its  celebrated  Observatory  on  its  extreme  summit, 
being  the  most  conspicuous  object  in  the  long  rugged  range  of 
the  Sidlaw  Hills.  In  ancient  historical  records,  the  name  of 
this  parish  is  given  as  Newtyld,  originating  doubtless  &t)m 
tyle,  or  tyld,  or  grey  slates  having  been  found  in  great  abund- 
ance on  almost  every  hill  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  village. 
The  hills  in  the  parish  are  severally  named  Rinpumie,  Hatton, 
Newtyle,  and  Keillor,  all  bearing  the  same  remarkable 
characteristic  of  being  clothed  with  beautiful  green,  while  all 


EASSIE  AND  KINPURNIE  HILL.  401 

the  surrounding  mountains  are  bleak  and  barren  to  their 
tops. 

The  Castle  of  Hatton,  or  Halltown,  is  beautifully  situated 
on  the  north-west  base  of  the  hill  of  Hatton,  in  the  glack  of 
Newtyle,  commanding  an  extensive  and  uninterrupted  view 
of  the  valley  of  Strathmore,  and  the  fEir-famed  Grampian 
mountains  beyond.  This  once  ^lendid  Castle,  now  in  ruins, 
was  built  in  1575  by  Lord  Oliphant,  and  appears  to  have 
been  originally  a  fortified  residence  of  great  strength  and 
beauty.  The  massive  tower  and  walls,  which  still  effectually 
defy  the  blast  of  time,  embosomed  among  umbrageous, 
venerable  trees,  form  a  very  picturesque  and  striking  feature 
in  a  landscape  distinguished  above  all  others  for  its  remark- 
able combination  of  the  soft  and  the  beautiful  with  the 
romantic  and  sublime. 

Easter  and  Wester  Eeilor,  situated  in  Newtyle  and  the 

adjoining  parish  of  Kettins,  were  anciently  a  portion  of  the 

earldom  of  Stratheam.    Eandulph  de  Kelore,  who  is  designed 

of  Forfarshire,  and  who,  according  to  Jervise,  did  homage  to 

King  Edward  at  two  different  times  during  the  ye.ar  1296 — 

first  at  the  Castle  of  Kildrummy,  in  Aberdeenshire,  and  next 

at  Berwick-upon-Tweed  (Rag.  Roll  111,  126;  Prynne,  654; 

Palgrave,  196) — ^had  doubtless  been  a  vassal  of  the  Earls  of 

Stratheam.     From  this  period  the  same  authority  traces  the 

surname  of  Keilor  to  1384,  when  John  of  Kelor,  the  last  of 

the  family  who  held  ^  lands    in    Angus,    parted    with    his 

patrimonial  estate  to  John  of  Ardillar,  or  Ardler.      Eeilor 

afterwards  passed  into  the  hands  successively  of  the  Barkers 

and  Ogilvys  until,  in  1645,  it  fell  to  Susan,  heiress  of  her 

brother,  Alexander  Haldane,  who  was  of  the  Haldanes  of 

Gleneagles,  in  Perthshire,  more   anciently  of  Hadden,    or 

Haldane  Rigg,  on  the  Border,  from  which  place  the  name  was 

assumed.    It  is  in  reference  either  to  these  Haldanes  of  Keilor, 

or  to  those  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Alyth,  that  tradition  says 

that,  in  consequence  of  some  act  of  kindness  which  was  shown 

by  one  of  "  the  auld  guidwives  "  to  King  James  when  he  was 

2c 


402  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

travelling  incogniio  in  that  district,  the  patrimonial  estate  of 
the  family  was  increased  by  royal  grant,  and  held  upon  this 
curious  tenure : — 

•*  Ye  Haddens  o*  the  Moor,  ye  pay  nocht 
But  a  hairen  tither* — if  it*8  socht — 
A  red  rose  at  Tule,  and  a  ana'  ba'  at  Lammas." 

Reilor  passed  from  the  Haldanes  to  the  Hallyburtons  of 
Pitcur,  and  is  now  the  property  of  Lord  Wharncliffe. 

On  the  side  of  the  Hill  of  Keilor  a  hamlet  still  bears  the 
name  of  '^  Chapel  Keilor.''  No  remains  of  any  ancient  place 
of  worship  exists,  but  the  meaning  of  the  word  keil  or  hillard 
being  a  church  or  burial  place  situated  upon  an  eminence,  it 
is  more  than  probable  that  at  some  remote  period  there  had 
been  a  sanctuary  and  place  of  burial  in  the  immediate 
neighbourhood  of  this  sequestered  little  hamlet  on  the  hill. 
In  support  of  this  theory,  the  antiquarian  scholar  is  referred 
to  the  ancient  sepulchral  remains  which  have  been  found  at 
different  times  near  "the  chapel,"  and  upon  the  Hill  of 
Keilor.  Not  far  from  this  hamlet,  curiously  embellished  with 
the  rude  outlines  of  a  wild  boar,  stands  conspicuously  to  view 
one  of  those  famous  sculptured  monuments  of  the  ancient 
inhabitants  of  the  more  northerly  parts  of  Scotland. 

Some  of  those  curious  subterraneous  dwellings  called  tceems 
or  pegkfs  houses,  having  been  discovered  about  sixty  years 
ago  on  the  adjoining  lands  of  Achtertyre,  adds  considerably 
to  the  interesting  associations  of  the  district.  One  of  these 
was  discovered  in  so  singular  a  manner,  that  I  am  constrained 
to  relate  to  you  the  mirth-provoking  particulars  thereof,  the 
recital  of  which  may  pleasantly  beguile  the  time  as  we  slowly 
ascend  the  zig-zag  sheep  walk  on  our  way  to  the  summit  of 
Kinpumie  Hill.    Thus  sings  the  poet : — 

'*  Some  fifty  years  ago,  or  less, 
A  pair  were  thrown  in  great  distress  ; 
Tho'  nought  they  saw,  yet  strange  to  say, 
Their  house  was  haunted  night  and  day — 

*  A  rope  made  of  hair. 


EASSIE  AND  KINPURNIE  HILL.  403 

The  fael  they  bora'd  no  ashes  gaye, 
And  fallen  pin  no  power  oould  save. 
Whither  they  went^  or  how,  none  knew. 
But  pass  they  did  quite  out  of  view  t 
Nay,  when  the  wife  was  baking  onoe, 
She  saw  a  cake  pass  at  a  glance 
Right  through  the  floor,  and  from  her  eyes, 
As  fast  as  lightning  through  the  skies  t 
Alarm'd  she  from  the  cottage  fled, 
And  rais*d  a  hue-and-ciy  so  dread, 
That  from  all  comers  of  the  glen 
Came  women,  weans,  and  stalwart  men, 
Who,  after  deep  and  soleom  thought, 
Besolv'd  that  down  the  house  be  brought, 
Which  to  the  ground  was  quickly  thrown. 
But  deil  or  ghaist  they  'counter'd  none  t 

"  One  lad,  howe'er,  with  courage  strong. 
On  seeing  a  crevice  black  and  long, 
Near  to  the  hearth  he  plied  a  pick. 
And  rais'd  a  boulder  broad  and  thick. 
When,  lo  t  he  found  the  bannock  there. 
The  missing  ase,  and  pins  so  rare  ; 
And,  on  descending  saw  a  weem. 
Of  length  and  build  that  few  could  dream. 
Strewn  here  and  there  were  guems  and  bones — 
Strange  cups,  and  hammers  made  of  stones, 
And  tiny  flints  for  bow  or  spear — 
Charr'd  com,  and  wood,  and  other  gear. 

"  Twas  a  PtgkCt  H&iue  (as  some  these  call), 
With  flagstone  roof  and  whinstone  wall ; 
In  form  like  to  an  arm  they  bend. 
Are  rounded  slightly  towards  the  end  ; 
"Bout  six  feet  high,  and  near  as  wide, 
And  with  a  door  a  gnat  might  stride  I " 


We  have  now  reached  the  top  of  the  Hill,  and  can  survej 
at  our  leisure,  the  attractively  beautiful  scene  around.  But, 
first  of  all,  let  us  inspect  the  Observatory,  built,  as  previously 
noticed,  by  the  good  and  learned  Mr  Mackenzie,  of  Belmont 
Castle,  a  great  lover  and  successful  cultivator  of  mathematics, 
algebra,  and  astronomy.  It  is  a  noble-looking  tower,  idthough 
only  the  four  walls  remain.    On  the  western  turret  a  light- 


404  STBATHHORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

ning  rod,  with  the  four  cardinal  points  at  the  top,  seems  in 
excellent  preservation.  Inside,  it  is  entirely  gutted ;  nothing 
being  left  to  indicate  for  what  purpose  it  was  originally  built 
Lord  Whamcliffe  should  be  recommended  to  renovate  the 
old  tower,  and  put  it  in  proper  condition,  in  memory  of  Mr 
Mackenzie,  from  whom,  through  the  marriage  of  the  first 
Earl  of  Bute  with  Agnes,  eldest  daughter  of  Sir  Greoige 
Mackenzie  of  Eosehaugh,  he  derived  his  Scotch  estates. 

How  fine  the  effect  of  the  bleating  of  lambs,  the  singing  of 
birds,  blent  with  the  melancholy  sound  of  the  moaning  wind 
among  the  waving  branches  of  the  dark  mountain  pines 
clustering  like  guardian  angels  around  the  old  tower  t  How 
grand  the  swell  of  the  southern  double  range  of  the  Sidlaws, 
some  of  the  higher  and  more  mountainous,  beautifully  wooded 
to  their  summits,  with  the  Law  and  the  estuary  of  the  Tay 
in  the  far  distance,  and  the  white  crested  billows  of  the 
Glerman  Ocean  beyond !  In  a  lone,  sequestered  hollow  to  the 
west,  under  the  shadow  of  the  northern  range  of  the  Sidlaws, 
and  beneath  the  hill  of  Keilor,  reposes  Lundie  Loch ;  and  as 
the  rays  of  the  evening  sun  now  gild  with  golden  beauty  its 
calm  and  peaceful  waters,  it  seems  like  a  scene  in  fsdryland, 
the  elfins  in  their  gossamer  robes  of  silver  sheen  being  only 
awanting  to  complete  the  picture. 

Far  away  in  the  west,  '^  by  dim  Bannoch's  shore,"  beside 
his  dwarf  attendant,  Farragon,  crowned  with  his  diadem  of 
sparkling  snow,  and  asserting  his  supremacy  as  monarch  of 
the  nordiem  mountains,  the  towering,  conical,  isolated  form 
of  the  far-famed  Schiehallion  appears  in  majestic  grandeur 
athwart  the  deep  blue  sky,  his  sharp,  shining  summit  piercing 
the  driving  clouds  as  with  a  javelin  or  spear,  and  appearing 
as  if  it  had  reached  the  very  gates  of  heaven !  Along  the 
Grampians,  and  directly  in  front  of  us,  rises  Catlaw,  the  grim 
sentinel  of  the  mountains,  looming  Caim-a-Month,  and  dark- 
frowning  Mount  Blair,  their  shaggy  summits  still  capped  with 
the  winter  snows,  which  sparkle  with  a  diamond  lustre  as  a 
beautiful  reflex  of  the  gloties  of  the  setting  sun. 


£ASSI£  AND  EINPXJRNIE  HILL.  405 

Immediately  opposite  is  Alyth,  and  farther  north,  where 
you  see  the  mist  arising  among  the  hills,  is  Lintrathen  Loch, 
while  that  narrow  glack  to  the  east  is  the  entrance  to  the  Den 
of  Airlie,  famous  in  history  and  song.  Mountains  of  all 
shapes  and  altitudes,  rising  in  great  numbers  above  and 
around  each  other,  stretch  away  in  solemn  grandeur  to  the 
mystic  confines  and  classical  surroundings  of  the  celebrated 
Lochnagar. 

At  our  feet  nestles,  in  sylvan  beauty,  the  pretty  village  of 
Newtyle,  with  its  handsome  new  church,  one  of  the  most 
elegant  in  every  respect  of  all  the  country  churches  in  the 
Howe.  In  the  immediate  vicinity  are  the  beautiful  woods  of 
Belmont  Castle,  Kinloch,  and  Meigle;  and  along  the  ridge 
of  the  western  hills  you  can  descry  Blairgowrie  and  New 
Eattray,  snugly  reposing  beneath  the  great  shadow  of  the 
neighbouring  Grampians,  and  looking  down  with  pride  on 
the  beautiful  valley  of  Strathm^re,  now  in  all  the  splendour 
of  its  summer  beauty. 

Although  from  this  spot  you  can  only  see  the  western  part 
of  the  bonnie  Howe,  sufficient  appears  to  give  you  some  idea 
of  its  marvellous  and  unrivalled  beauty — a  rolling  river  like 
the  noble  Tay  being  the  only  feature  in  the  landscape  awant- 
ing  to  finish  the  picture,  and  convert  it  into  an  earthly 
paradise. 

We  must  now  descend  the  hill,  for  these  dark,  driving, 
murky  clouds  overhead  forbode  a  coming  storm.  Even  while 
we  speak,  the  red  forked  lightning  flashes  ominously  amongst 
the  dark  firs,  and  around  the  grey  battlements  of  the  lonely 
tower — ^and  hark  I  the  rattling  thunder-peal,  bursting  darkly 
over  the  Strath,  breaks  out  in  all  its  terrific  grandeur  over 
the  hill  on  which  we  stand,  and  the  driving  rain  pours  down 
like  a  destructive  deluge,  and  in  a  few  seconds  we  feel  as 
thoroughly  drenched  as  if  we  had  been  for  an  hour  exposed 
to  the  full  fiiry  of  the  storm. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

MEI6LE. 

VANORA— -KING  ARTHUR. 

'*  Renowned  in  days  of  yore 
Has  stood  our  father's  hospitable  door  ; 
No  other  roof  a  stranger  should  receive, 
No  other  hands  than  ours  the  welcome  give. 
But  in  my  absence  riot  fills  the  place, 
Nor  bears  the  modest  queen  a  stranger's  face  ; 
From  noiseful  revel  far  remote  she  flies. 
But  rarely  seen  or  seen  with  weeping  eyes. 
No — Eurymachus  receive  my  guest. 
Of  nature  courteous,  and  by  far  the  best ; 
He  woos  the  queen  with  more  respectful  flame, 
And  emulates  her  former  husband's  fame : 
With  what  success,  'tis  Love's  alone  to  know. 
And  the  hoped  nuptials  turn  to  joy  or  woe." 

Homer, 

As  we  walk  down  the  beautiful  road  leading  from  Newtyle 
to  Meigle,  we  may  profitably  beguile  the  time,  by  reverting, 
enquiringly,  to  what  are  termed  "the  good  old  times,"  in 
striking  contrast  with  those  "  degenerate  days  "  in  which  we 
live. 

On  the  accession  of  the  house  of  Stuart  the  people  of 
Scotland  were  only  slowly  advancing  from  almost  extreme 
barbarism  towards  modem  civilization.  Every  man  was  a 
soldier,  or  the  menial  vassal  of  his  chief,  trade  and  agriculture 
being  made  altogether  subservient  to  the  science  of  war.  At 
this  period — 1371 — Scotland  continued  to  be  regarded  by 
intelligent  foreigners  as  a  country  still  completely  barbarous. 
The  author  of  the  Dittamundi  says  it  is  rich  in  fish,  flesh,  and 
milk,  but — 


MEIGLE.  407 

"  Molto  e  el  paese  olpestro  4  perigrino, 
£  ha  la  gente  ruvida  4  salvatica." — 

MountainouB  and  strange  is  the  country, 
And  the  people  rough  and  savage. 

Froissart  in  his  history — 1400 — states,  the  French  nation 
"  shuddered  at  the  penury  and  barbarity  of  Scotland.'*  He 
further  says,  that  "  the  meanest  articles  of  manufBM^ture,  horse- 
ishoes,  harness,  saddles,  bridles  were  all  imported  ready-made 
from  Flanders.  The  houses  of  the  common  people  were  com- 
posed of  four  or  five  posts  to  support  the  turf  waUs,  and  a 
roof  of  boughs,  three  days  sufficing  to  erect  the  humble  man- 
sioa"  A  contemporary  historian  adds,  that "  the  country  was 
rather  desert  than  inhabited,  was  almost  wholly  mountainous, 
and  more  abundant  in  savages  than  in  cattle."  {Hid.  de 
Charles  VI.,  par  Le  Laboureury  Tame  /.,  p.  102,— "jpit«  pkine 
de  sauvagine  que  de  hestail.") 

Even  in  the  reign  of  James  I.  who  contributed  greatly  to 
the  civiUzation  of  his  kingdom,  we  find  Enea  Silvio,  after- 
wards Pope  Pius  II.,  thus  writing  disparagingly  of  the  Scotch. 
"  Concerning  Scotland  he  found  these  things   worthy    of 
repetition.    It  is  an  island  joined  to  England,  stretching  two 
hundred  miles  to  the  north  and  about  fifty  broad;  a  cold 
country,  fertile  of  few  sorts  of  grain,  and  generally  void  of 
trees,  but  there  is  a  sulphureous  stone  dug  up  which  is  used 
for  firing.     The  towns  are  unwalled,  the  houses  commonly 
built  without  lime,  and  the  villages  roofed  with  turf,  while  a 
cow's  hide  supplies  the  place  of  a  door.     The  commonality  are 
poor  and  uneducated,  have  abundance  of  flesh  and  fish,  but 
eat  bread  as  a  dainty.    The  men  are  small  in  stature,  but  bold ; 
the  women  fair  and  comely,  and  prone  to  the  pleasures  of 
love;  kisses  being  there  esteemed  of  less  consequence  than 
pressing  the  hand  is  in  Italy.     The  wine  is  all  imported ;  the 
horses  are  mostly  small  ambling  nags,  only  a  few  being  pre- 
served entire  for  propagation,  and  neither  cuny-combs  nor 
reins  are  used.    The  oysters  are  larger  than  in  England.   From 
Scotland  are  imported  into  Flanders  hides,  wool,  salt  fish,  and 


408  STKATHMOBS :  ITS  SCEl^ES  AND  LEGENDS. 

pearb.  Vothing  gives  the  Scots  more  pleasure  than  to  hear 
the  English  dispraised.  The  country  is  divided  into  two  parts, 
the  cultivated  lowlands,  and  the  region  where  agriculture  i& 
not  used.  The  wild  Scots  have  a  different  language,  and  some- 
times  eat  the  bark  of  trees.  There  are  no  wolves.  Crows  are 
new  inhabitants,  and  therefore  the  tree  in  which  thej  build 
becomes  rojal  property.  At  the  winter  solstice,  when  the 
author  was  there,  the  day  did  not  exceed  four  hours.'' 

During  the  reigns  of  James  IV.  and  V.  Scotland  progressed 
more  rapidly  towards  comparative  civilization,  but  the 
peasantry  still  suffered  great  oppression  at  the  hands  of  the 
landlords  and  nobles.  The  latter,  says  Queen  Margaret,  in  a 
letter  of  September  1 523, '' regard  not  the  disasters  of  the  poor 
but  laugh  at  them."  In  his  description  of  Scotland,  1521^ 
John  Mair  states  that  Perth  was  the  only  fortified  town,  the 
Scots  being  little  versed  either  in  fortification,  or  siege ;  that 
there  were  often  thirty  hamlets  attached  to  one  parish  church, 
distant  from  some  of  them  four,  five,  or  even  ten  miles ;  that 
the  houses  of  the  farmers  were  miserably  small  and  uncomfort- 
able and  although  stone  was  common,  they  showed  no  desire 
to  erect  good  houses,  to  plant  trees  or  hedges,  or  to  enrich  the 
ground;  that  the  farmers  openly  express  their  contempt  of 
manufactures,  and  that  the  nobles  are  in  perpetual  feuds  with 
their  neighbours  to  the  complete  neglect  of  the  education  of 
their  families ;  that  the  Highlanders  were  partly  possessed  of 
cattle  and  horses  which  they  sold  in  Perth  or  Dundee  for  two 
francs  each,  but  that  the  others  more  savage  only  hunted,  or 
followed  their  chiefs,  in  their  constant  expeditions  and  conflicts. 
He  further  says,  that  the  Highlanders  wore  caligoe,  or  trouse, 
reaching  only  to  the  middle  of  the  leg,  a  mantle,  and  a  shirt 
stained  with  safiron,  their  weapons  a  bow  and  arrows,  a  broad 
sword,  small  halbert,  large  dagger  of  one  edge ;  armour,  mail 
of  iron  rings ;  but  the  common  people  wore  in  battle  jackets 
of  quilted  linen,  waxed  or  pitched,  and  covered  with  deer's 
skin ;  while  the  Lowlanders  like  the  English,  fought  in  short 
cloaka 


MEIGLE.  409 

Boeoe  in  his  pedantic  description  of  Scotland,  gives  but  a 
very  meagre  account  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  people, 
and  what  he  does  give,  can  scarcely  be  relied  upon  as  authentic. 
Bowar,  (1444),  says  very  little  as  to  the  domestic  condition  of 
the  inhabitants,  or  of  the  state  of  the  country  in  general. 
Fordoun  merely  observes  that  the  Highlanders  spoke  Irish ; 
the  Lowlanders  Teutonic ;  and  that  the  latter  were  decently 
clothed  and  civilized,  while  the  former  were  mere  savages. 

The  Highlands  must  even  at  this  time  and  for  sometime  after- 
wards have  been  in  a  most  deplorable  and  barbarous  condition. 
Take  the  account  given  of  themselves  by  John  Eldar,  a  clergy- 
man and  native  of  Caithness,  one  who  had  studied  for  some 
years  at  English  universities,  and  who,  on  the  death  of  James 
V.  presented  to  Henry  VIH.  a  project  of  a  union  between  the 
two  Eongdoms.  With  reference  to  the  appellation  lUdshanks, 
given  to  the  Highlanders,  he  thus  explains  the  term. — "  More- 
over wherefore  they  call  us  in  Scotland  Redshanks,  and  in  your 
grace's  dominion  of  England  Bough  footed  Scots,  please  it  your 
majesty  to  understand,  that  we  of  people  can  tolerate,  suffer, 
and  away  best  with  cold ;  for  both  summer  and  winter,  (except 
when  the  frost  is  most  vehement)  going  always  bare-legged  and 
barefooted,  our  delight  and  pleasure  is  not  only  in  hunting  of 
red-deer,  wolves,  foxes,  and  graioSy  whereof  we  abound  and 
have  great  plenty;  but  also  in  running,  leaping,  swimming, 
shooting,  and  throwing  of  darts.  Therefore  in  so  much  as 
we  use,  and  delight,  so  to  go  always,  the  tender  delicate 
gentlemen  of  Scotland  call  us  Bedskanks. 

"  And  again  in  winter  when  the  frost  is  most  vehement, 
(as  I  have  said)  which  we  cannot  suffer  bare-footed,  so  well 
as  snow  which  can  never  hurt  us,  when  it  comes  to  our 
girdles,  we  go  a-hunting,  and  afier  that  we  have  slain  red- 
deer,  we  slay  off  the  skin  by-and-bye,  and  setting  of  our  bare 
foot  on  the  inside  thereof,  for  want  of  cunning  shoemakers, 
by  your  Grace's  pardon,  we  play  the  cobblers,  compassing  and 
measuring  so  much  thereof,  as  shall  reach  up  to  our  ankles ; 
pricking  the  upper  part  thereof  with  holes,  that  the  water 


412  8TRATHM0RE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

fact,  and  the  Lowlanders  continue  to  call  the  Highlanders 
Irishy,  and  their  language  Irish,  Erish,  or  Erse. 

The  name  PUcs  or  Pids,  otherwise  Caledonians,  is  first 
mentioned  by  Eumenius,  in  the  year  296,  who  says  'that 
before  the  time  of  Julius  Gffisar,  Britain  south  of  Forth  and 
Clyde,  or  Roman  Britain,  was  only  invaded  by  the  Picts  and 
Irish,  Pidis  modo  ei  Hibemis,  The  name  of  Scots  was  at  that 
time  unknown.  Hibemi  and  Scoti  have  been  clearly  proved 
to  be  synonymous;  that  Ireland  was  Scotia,  and  the  Irish 
Scoti,  Ethicus  (368)  says,  Hibemia  a  Scotorum  gentilnis  colUwr, 
Ireland  is  inhabited  by  the  nations  of  Scots.  In  the  next 
century  Orosius  writes — Hibemia  insuta/r  irUer  Briianniam  et 
Hispaniam  ...  a  Scotorum  gerUUms  colUtir. — Ireland  an 
island  between  Britain  and  Spain  ...  is  inhabited  by  the 
Scotch  nations.  In  the  seventh  century  Isidorus  thus  clearly 
and  explicitly  says,  Scotia  eadem  ei  Hibemia  p'oxima  BritannuE 
insiUa,  Scotia  the  same  as  Ireland,  an  island  very  near 
Britain.  Beda,  speaking  in  the  next  age  of  Hibemia  or 
Ireland,  says, — hcec  Scotorum  patria  est — This  is  the  native 
country  of  the  Scots.  Without  quoting  any  more  authorities 
on  the  subject,  such  as  Eginhart  in  the  ninth  century, 
Notherus  Balbulus  in  the  tenth;  Marianus  Scotus  in  the 
eleventh ;  and  St.  Bernard  in  the  twelfth  century — ^it  may 
be  confidently  taken  as  indisputably  proved  that  Scotland 
was  not  called  Scotia  before  the  eleventh  century.  Irish 
writers  may  be  prejudiced  on  the  one  side,  and  Scottish 
on  the  other  side,  but  the  former  is  the  right  side,  and 
the  latter  the  wrong.  Impartial  foreigners  universally  pro- 
nounce against  the  Scotch.  Sirmond,  a  Frenchman  ;  Bozius 
an  Italian ;  Molanus,  MirsBUs,  Ganisius,  Gretserus,  Germans, 
and  even  our  own  countr3rmen.  Major  and  Buchanan^ 
give  it  against  us  even  at  the  commencement  of  the  con- 
troversy. 

As  to  the  general  history  of  Scotland,  it  only  becomes 
partially  clear  at  the  commencement  of  the  reign  of  Malcolm 
III.,  in  the  year  1056,  all  preceding  that  date  being  utterly 


MEI6LE.  413 

untrustworthy,  and  lost  in  the  veriest  and  silliest  fiction. 
In  regard  to  a  nation's  ignorance  of  its  own  history,  especially 
and  not  very  creditably  peculiarly  applicable  to  Scotland, 
one  of  the  greatest  of  the  ancients  expresses  himself  thus, 
that  "Not  to  know  what  has  happened  before  one's  birth, 
IB  to  be  always  a  child."  And  again  that — "to  him  none 
seemed  to  have  any  claim  to  learning,  who  were  ignorant 
concerning  the  affairs  of  their  own  country."  The  founda- 
tion of  the  early  history  of  any  country  should  be  carefully 
and  critically  examined ;  for  as  a  celebrated  historian  most 
truly  remarks,  "  how  is  it  possible  that,  while  the  beginnings 
are  false,  the  rest  should  prove  true  f "  Such  a  task  requires 
great  research,  unflagging  patience,  and  indomitable  industry, 
keen  critical  acumen,  variety  of  information,  and  persistent, 
continuous  labour.  But  this  incessant  drudgery  and  extreme 
stretching  of  the  powers  of  the  mind,  is  at  first  veiy  irksome 
and  exceedingly  painful,  for  in  the  truthful  words  of  Thucy- 
dides,  "amongst  most  men,  even  the  investigation  of  truth 
is  impatient  of  labour ;  so  that  they  rather  have  recourse  to 
what  is  next  at  hand." 

Learning  in  Scotland  being  thus  degraded  and  neglected, 
it  was  not  till  the  beginning  of  the  last  century,  that  the 
study  of  antiquities  made  any  progress  in  that  country. 
While  in  the  sixteenth  century,  France,  Spain,  Italy,  and 
Germany  had  produced  several  eminent  antiquaries,  and 
Hungary,  Poland,  Denmark,  Sweden,  and  Norway,  had 
abnost  rivalled,  if  not  eclipsed  them  in  the  next,  Scotland 
remained  barren  of,  and  undistinguished  by,  antiquarian 
lore,  and  isolated  by  its  ignorance  of  the  sciences,  from  all 
the  other  civilized  nations  of  Europe.  The  best^  as  weU  as 
the  weakest  writers,  seemed  to  have  despised  the  name  and 
province  of  an  antiquary,  ignoring  the  bright  examples  of 
Cato,  Varro,  CsBsar,  in  ancient  times;  and  of  Luther, 
Melanchthon,  Spelman,  Selden,  Du  Gauge,  Leibnitz,  and 
Muratori,  in  modem. 

When  the  science  of  antiquities,  however,  began  to  be 


414  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

cultivated,  the    first    great    enquiry  ought  to  have  been, 
whether  the   barbaric  monuments  in  Britain  were  either 
Celtic  or  Gothic.    Without  examining  at  all  the  foundation, 
and  taking  as  their  guide  those  very  points  which  have  been 
proved  to  be  entirely  false  and  illusory,  antiquarians  have 
rushed  at  once  to  the  conclusion  that  they  are  all  Celtic, 
while  the  truth  is  all  on  the  other  side,  that  they  are  Gothic. 
Save  cairns  of  stones  used  as  sepulchres,  and  as  memorials  of 
ancient  monuments  by  the  British  Scots,  there  are  none. 
This  may  be  attributed  to  Celtic  inaction  and  indolence ; 
while  the  activity  and  industry  of  the  Gothic  raised  vast 
stones  for  the  same  purposes,  instead  of  heaping  together 
an  insignificant  number  of  small  ones.    The  Celts,  according 
to  all  ancient  history  and  present  knowledge  of  their  habits 
of  life,  were  a  race  utterly  incapable  of  labour,  far  less  adept 
in  the  rude  arts.     No  stone  monuments  can  anywhere  be 
traced  among  them.    The  Goths,  on  the  contrary,  originating 
from  Asia,  where  the  rude  as  well  as  the  cultivated  arts,  first 
began,  were  only  a  barbaric  race,  with  barbaric  arts  from  the 
beginning.     The  antiquities  of  the  Picts,  the  Gothic  inhabit- 
ants of  Scotland,  may,  according  to  Pinkerton,  be  classified 
thus : — 

I.  Single  Stones  erect;  being  1.  Sepulchral;  2.  Memorial ; 

3.  Boundaries. 
II.  Barrows  or  Sepulchral  Hillocks. 

m.  Temples,  and  Places  of  Judgment. 

IV.  Castles. 
V.  Caves. 

VI.  Entrenchments. 

Meigle,  the  quiet  secluded  village  we  are  now  approaching,, 
is  beautifully  situated  in  the  very  heart  of  Strathmore. 
Beneath  the  friendly  shadow  of  the  umbrageous  woods  of 
Belmont  and  Kinloch,  it  unostentatiously  reposes  in  all  the 
richness  of  its  sylvan  beauty.  Its  name  may  have  been 
derived  from  the  circumstance  of  the  church  and  manse  being 
situate  on  a  tract  of  level  ground  between  two  marshes  or 


MEIGLE.  415 

"  gills,"  giving  rise  to  the  word,  Midgile  or  Meigle.  Little 
of  its  ancient  history  is  known.  Boece,  however,  notices  it 
when  alluding  to  the  monument  erected  there  to  the  memory 
of  the  faithless  wife  of  the  fabulous  King  Arthur.  It  is 
certain  it  was  a  burying-place  before  the  introduction  of 
Christianity.  The  sluggish  Dean  and  the  impetuous  Isla, 
water  the  north-west  boundary  of  the  parish,  and  the  placid 
rivulet  called  Meigle  bum,  flows  gently  around  its  south- 
western borders,  the  whole  parish  being  in  the  highest  and 
most  beautiful  state  of  cultivation,  and  the  crops  rich,  varied, 
and  abundant. 

Kinloch  House,  DrumMlbo,  and  Meigle  House,  in  the 
immediate  neighbourhood  of  the  village,  embosomed  in 
extensive  woods,  and  pleasantly  situated,  contribute  greatly 
io  the  rural  and  architectural  adornment  of  the  district. 
Belmont  Castle,  the  seat  of  Lord  Whamcliffe,  about  a  mile 
south  of  the  village,  is  a  large  and  very  elegant  quadrangular 
building,  the  venerable  old  tower  of  the  ancient  pile  being 
happily  incorporated  with  the  modem  mansion.  In  Belmont 
Park  there  is  a  tumulus  called  BelidufT,  which,  like  so  many 
other  fabuloiis  places  associated  with  the  death  of  Macbeth 
and  its  attendant  circumstances,  tradition  assigns  as  the  spot 
on  which  that  monarch  fell  in  combat  with  Macduff.  This 
popular  tradition  is  still  tenaciously  adhered  to,  in  defiance 
of  the  historical  fact,  that  Macbeth  was  slain  at  Lumphanan 
or  Lunfanans  in  Aberdeenshire.  About  a  mile  distant  stands 
a  large,  erect  block  of  whinstone,  of  nearly  twenty  tons  in 
weight,  called  Macbeih's  Stone,  said  to  be  monumental  of  one 
of  his  chief  officers.  This  conjecture  differs  from  the  former, 
inasmuch  as  it  has  at  least  the  air  of  probability  about  it, 
for  although  Meigle  be  now  proved  not  to  have  been  the 
place  where  Macbeth  fell,  it  may,  nevertheless,  have  been  the 
scene  of  some  of  his  many  battles. 

To  the  scholar  and  antiquarian,  however,  the  churchyard  of 
Meigle  which  we  are  now  entering,  must  prove  the  most 
interesting  spot  in  the  parish,  containing  as  it  does  the  remains 


416  STRATHMORE:  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

of  the  famous  sepulchral  monument  of  Yanora^  or  Guinevar, 
wife  of  the  renowned  King  Arthur.  According  to  tradition, 
Arthur  Uved  in  the  beginning  of  the  sixth  century ;  was  con- 
quered in  battle  by  the  Picts  and  Scots ; — and  that  Vanora 
was  detained  as  a  prisoner  for  some  time  at  the  fortified  castle 
of  Barryhill  in  the  neighbouring  parish  of  Alyth,  about  three 
miles  (Ustant  from  Meigle.  Tradition  rektes  further,  that 
Vanora,  during  her  husband's  absence,  proved  unfaithful  to 
him,  having  held  an  unlawful  intercourse  with  Mordred,  a 
Pictish  King ;  that  Arthur  when  he  returned,  enraged  at  her 
infidelity,  caused  her  to  be  torn  to  pieces  by  wild  beasts ;  and 
that  she  was  buried  at  Meigle  where  a  monument  has  been 
erected  to  perpetuate  her  infamy. 

The  account  of  these  doubtful  circumstances  chronicled  by 
Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  differs  very  considerably  from  the 
above  commonly  received  local  tradition.  According  to  this 
authority,  the  origin  of  King  Arthur  occurred  in  this  wise. 
When  the  Saxons  were  l&jiag  waste  our  Island,  but  before 
they  had  made  themselves  masters  of  it,  the  Britons  were  ruled 
by  a  wise  and  valiant  King,  named  Uther  Pendagron.  One 
of  the  most  eminent  of  his  nobles  was  Gorlois,  Duke  of  Corn- 
wall, whose  wife  Igema  was  a  woman  of  exquisite  and  sur- 
passing beauty.  At  one  of  the  royal  feasts  of  Easter,  Gorlois 
was  present  with  his  lady.  The  king,  who  had  never  seen 
her  before,  immediately  fell  violently  in  love  with  her,  and 
manifested  his  passion  so  openly  that  Gorlios  took  away  his 
wife  abruptly,  and  went  home  with  her  to  Cornwall  without 
asking  for  Arthur's  leave.  To  punish  his  offending  vassal,  the 
enraged  king  led  an  army  into  ComwalL  Conscious  of  his 
inability  to  resist  the  King  in  the  field,  Gorlios  shut  up  his 
wife  in  the  impregnable  Castle  of  Tintagel,  while  he  took  shelter 
in  another  castle,  where  he  was  immediately  besieged  by  Uther. 
Borrowing  the  main  incident  from  classical  history,  Geoffrey 
relates  further,  that  during  the  siege,  Uther,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  his  magician,  Merlin,  obtained  access  to  the  beautiful 
Igema  in  the  same  manner  as  Jupiter  approached  Alcmenay 


MEIGLE.  417 

namely,  by  assuming  the  form  of  her  husband ;  and  that  the 
consequence  was  the  birth  of  the  child  who  was  destined  to 
be  the  Hercules  of  the  Britons,  and  who  when  bom  was  named 
Arthur.  In  the  sequel,  Gorbios  was  killed,  and  then  Uther 
married  his  widow. 

Such,  according  to  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  was  the  origin  of 
King  Arthur.  On  the  death  of  Uther,  Arthur,  it  is  said,  was 
unanimously  chosen  to  succeed  him,  and  was  crowned  at 
Silchester. 

In  recounting  the  stirring  events  of  Arthur's  life  and  reign, 
Geofirey  aUudes  to  his  wars  with  the  Saxons,  when  he  crushed 
the  Picts  and  Scots  to  such  a  helpless  condition  that  they  took 
shelter  in  the  Islands  of  Loch-Lomond,  and  there  made  their 
peace  with  him.  He  next  conquered  Ireland,  Iceland,  Gothland, 
the  Orcades,  Norway  and  Denmark.  He  afterwards  subdued 
the  whole  of  Gaul,  the  prolonged  conquest  occupying  nearly 
nine  years. 

Arthur,  at  this  time,  according  to  the  same  authority,  being 
in  the  full  zenith  of  his  power,  was  suddenly  startled  by  a 
peremptory  summons  from  Lucius  Tiberius,  the  '^  Procurator  " 
of  the  republic  of  Eome,  to  restore  to  Eome  the  provinces 
which  he  had  unjustly  usurped  on  the  Continent,  and  also  to 
pay  the  tribute  which  Britain  had  formerly  paid  to  the 
Imperial  power.  At  a  great  council  held  it  was  resolved  to 
retort  by  demanding  tribute  of  Eome,  and  to  march  an  army 
immediately  into  Italy  to  subdue  the  Imperial  city. 

Arthur  entrusted  the  government  of  Britain  to  his  nephew, 
Modred,  and  his  queen,  Guanhumara,  and  then  embarked  at 
Southampton  for  the  Continent. 

The  army  of  Britain  soon  encountered  the  Somans,  who 

had  advanced  into  Gaul  to  meet  them.    After  much  fighting, 

and  great  slaughter  on  both  sides,  the  Eomans  were  driven 

oat  of  the  country  with  the  loss  of  their  Commander,  Lucius 

Tiberius,  who  was  slain  by  Arthur's  nephew,  Walgan,  the 

Gawain  of  later  romance 

Disastrous  news  from  Britain  reached  the  King  when  on  his 

2d 


418  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEaENDS. 

march  to  Eome.  Modred,  wHo  had  been  left  there  as  Eegent 
during  the  absence  of  the  King,  conspired  with  the  queen, 
whom  he  married,  and  usurped  the  crown  he  had  sworn  Mth- 
fully  to  defend.  Arthur,  dividing  his  forces,  immediately 
returned  to  Britain,  and  soon  encountered  in  battle  the  power- 
ful army  which  Modred  had  assembled  at  Eichborough  in 
Kent,  to  meet  him.  Although  in  this  battle  Arthur  lost  a 
great  many  of  his  best  generals,  including,  among  the  rest,  his 
nephew,  Walgan,  Modred  was  ignominiously  defeated  and  put 
to  flight.  The  queen  was  so  overwhehned  with  grief  and 
shame  by  the  unexpected  news  of  her  paramour's  defeat,  that 
she  fled  in  all  haste  to  Caerlcon,  and  took  refuge  in  a  nunnery, 
where  she  resolved  to  pass  the  remainder  of  her  life  in 
penitence  for  her  sins. 

After  two  other  battles,  obstinately  maintained  on  both  sides, 
Modred  was  slain,  and  Arthur  himself  mortally  wounded.  He 
was  carried  to  the  Isle  of  Avallon,  where  he  died  and  was 
buried  in  the  year  542. 

Such  is  substantially  the  account  given  by  GeofiFrey  of  Mon- 
mouth, and  the  so  called  British  historians,  of  the  fabulous  his- 
tory of  King  Arthur.  His  knights  of  the  round  table  which  so 
charmingly  swell  out  the  story,  are  the  productions  of  the 
romance  writers  of  a  later  period.  Entire  belief  in  these 
fascinating  narratives  has,  however,  gradually  diminished,  and 
it  is  now  very  much  doubted  whether  such  a  personage  ever 
existed,  Geoflfrejr's  history  being  generally  regarded  as  mere 
fable.  It  is  certain  that  no  such  name  as  King  Arthur  was 
known  before  the  Norman  period,  and  Giraldus  Cambrensis 
in  the  end  of  the  twelfth  century  proves  indisputably  that 
Geoffrey's  stories  were  not  Welsh.  It  therefore  has  been  sur- 
mised, that  they  were  derived  from  Brittany,  and  that  Arthur 
may  have  been  a  personage  in  the  mythic  history  of  the 
Bretons.  While  the  historian,  however,  discards  the  whole 
history  as  entirely  fabulous,  it  has,  in  the  inverse  direction, 
risen  higher  in  the  estimation  of  the  poet,  the  genius  of 
Bulwer  and  Tennyson  having  shed  a  lustre  around  it  to 
which  it  was  not  otherwise  entitled. 


MEIGLE.  419 

It  is  under  the  halo  of  romance,  therefore,  that  we  proceed 
to  examine  these  curious  monumental  stones  which  tradition 
associates  with  the  name  of  the  faithless  wife  of  King  Arthur, 
the  previous  narratives,  doubtless,  adding  additional  zest  and 
interest  to  our  examination. 

The  principal  stone  stands  immediately  in  front  of  the 
church,  and  is,  apparently,  well  cared  for,  and  reverentially 
preserved.  A  variety  of  sculptured  figures,  for  the  most  part 
of  the  unique  and  monstrous  kind,  cover  the  surface  of  the 
monument,  all  appearing,  not  only  in  bas-relief  but  as  sharp 
and  perfect  as  when  originally  fashioned  by  the  cunning  work- 
man's primitive  chisel  of  the  sixth  or  seventh  century.  These 
finely  cut  representations  of  the  fearful  punishment  of  Yanora's 
crime,  might  be  more  clearly  and  prominently  brought  out, 
were  it  not  for  the  sacred  moss  of  ages  which  partiaUy  covers 
them.  But  no  Yandalic,  sacrilegious  hand  must  desecrate  the 
venerable  shrine,  or  impair  the  ancient  associations  which 
hover  round  these  precious  relics  of  the  past.  The  yellow 
moss  itself  suggests  the  idea  of  great  age  and  antiquarian  • 
value,  and  must  not  be  rudely  touched  or  obliterated. 

One  of  these  monumental  stones  now  lies  near  the  entrance 
to  the  manse,  religiously  preserved  among  the  shrubs  and 
flowers  which  line  the  beautiful  pathway  from  the  gate  to  the 
minister's  house. 

In  all  these  stones,  the  sculptured  figures  are  of  the 
monstrous  kind.  One  is  a  large  serpent  fastened  to  a  Bull's 
mouth ;  another  resembling  a  Centaur ;  and  two  representa- 
tions of  wild  beasts  tearing  a  human  body ;  and  one  where  the 
body  seems  tied,  or  close  to  chariot  wheels,  which  may  refer 
to  Yanora,  or  may  have  given  rise  to  the  tradition. 

The  old  church  of  Meigle  was  totally  consumed  by  fire  some 
years  ago.  A  new  and  exceedingly  handsome  church  has  been 
erected  on  the  site  of  the  ancient  edifice,  which  in  the  interior, 
as  well  as  exterior,  may  favourably  compare  with  any  of  our 
recently  erected  City  churches. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE    ABBEY    OF    CUPARrANGUS. 

(  By  a  Bteel-clenched  postern  door. 

They  entered  now  the  chancel  tall ; 
The  darken'd  roof  rose  high  aloof 

On  pillars  lofty  and  light  and  small : 
The  Eey-stone,  that  lock'd  each  ribbed  aisle. 
Was  a  fleur-de-lis,  or  a  quatre-feuille  ; 
The  corbells  were  carved  grotesque  and  grim ; 
And  the  pillars,  with  clustr'd  shafts  so  trim. 
With  base  and  with  capital  flourish'd  around, 
Seem'd  bundles  of  lances  which  garlands  had  boimd.*' 

Lay  of  the  Last  MimtrtL 

"  The  great  misfortune  of  my  life,"  saith  Robert  Bums^ — 
"  was  to  want  an  aim."  In  every  decade  of  life,  it  is  well  for 
man  to  have,  in  small  matters  as  well  as  great,  some  distinct 
and  definite  object  always  in  view.  The  possession  of  this 
inestimable  treasure  will  not  only  balance  and  steady  the 
various  faculties  of  the  mind,  but  effectually  serve  to  soften 
and  molify  the  sharp  edge  of  those  vissicitndes,  disappoint- 
ments, and  sorrows,  which  all  to  some  extent  experience  in 
their  chequered  journey  through  this  sublunary  state  of 
existence,  as  preparatory  to  the  full  and  eternal  enjoyment  of 
that  celestial  blessedness,  which,  as  the  inheritance  of  the 
saints,  await  the  righteous  as  their  reward,  when  death  at 
last  shall  break  their  bands  asunder,  and  open  for  their 
joyful  entrance,  the  gates  of  immortality. 

As  in  walking  along  the  beautiful  pathway  leading  from 
Newtyle  to  Meigle,  we  lovingly  discoursed  together  on  ''  the 
good  old  times ''  of  Scotland's  ancient  history,  let  us  now,  on 


THE  ABBEY  OF  CUPAR-ANGUa  421 

some  kindred  subject,  confidingly  commune  together,  as  we 
wend  our  level,  bough-o'ershadowed  way  between  the  famous 
monument  of  Yanora,  and  the  solitary  remains  of  the  once 
stately  and  magnificent  Abbey  of  Cupar.  Let  us  take  at 
random,  the  fascinating  theme  of  Literary  Grenius,  with  all  its 
disheartening  struggles,  yet  sublime  and  hopeful  surround- 
ings. 

The  specious  yet  forbidding  dogma,  that  the  lover  and 
follower  of  literature  could  not  be  at  the  same  time  a  man  of 
business,  is  fortunately,  now,  to  a  certain  extent  exploded. 
Becent  brilliant  instances  attest  the  perfect  compatibility  of 
high  intellect  and  lofty  genius  being  occasionally  combined 
with  the  most  acute,  active,  and  solid  habits  of  business. 
While  admitting  this  to  the  fullest  extent,  however,  we  must 
take  care  not  to  confound  two  things,  in  themselves  essentially 
different.  The  first  of  these  is,  that  true  genius  is  not  the 
result  of  external  circumstances ;  and  the  second,  that  native 
inspiration  will  shew  itself,  in  some  way  or  another,  inde- 
pendent of,  and  altogether  apart  from,  all  external  causes 
whatsoever.  "  Some  minds,''  says  Irving ;  "  seem  almost  to 
create  themselves,  springing  up  under  every  disadvantage,  and 
working  their  solitary  but  irresistible  way  through  a 
thousand  obstacles.  Nature  seems  to  delight  in  disappoint- 
ing the  assiduities  of  art,  with  which  it  would  rear  dulness  to 
maturity ;  and  to  gloiy  in  the  vigour  and  luxuriance  of  her 
chance  productions.  She  scatters  the  seeds  of  genius  to  the 
winds,  and  though  some  may  perish  among  the  stony  places 
of  the  world,  and  some  may  be  choked  by  the  thorns  and 
brambles  of  early  adversity,  yet  others  wiU  now  and  then 
strike  roots  even  in  the  clefts  of  the  rock ;  struggle  bravely  up 
into  sunshine,  and  spread  over  their  sterile  birth-place  all  the 
beauties  of  vegetation." 

Two  equally  repugnant  dogmas  still,  however,  to  some 
extent,  exert  their  influence  in  society,  but  which  are  not  the 
less  easily  overthrown.  I  allude,  first,  to  the  commonly 
received  notion,  that  the  man  of  great  grasp  of  intellect  and 


422  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

conmianding  genius,  must,  of  necessdtj,  be  oiUrS  in  his  con- 
duct and  behaviour  in  the  world — ^that,  in  short,  there  must 
be  something  in  his  walk  and  conversation,  which  at  once 
distinguishes  him  from  among  the  common  herd  by  whom 
he  is  surrounded.  Now,  every  attentive  reader  of  biography 
must  admit,  that  the  most  prominent  and  attractive  feature 
in  the  characters  of  the  great,  is  their  humility.  These  who 
have  been  privileged  to  enjoy  their  friendship,  will  a&  readily 
admit,  that  the  great  charm  of  their  converse  lay  in  its 
unaffected  and  child-like  simplicity.  Just  in  proportion  as 
we  rise  £rom  little  minds  to  great,  we  shall  find  humility 
becoming  more  humble,  and  purity  more  pure.  Even  the 
divine  Newton  was,  in  his  own  estimation,  only  as  a  little 
child  gathering  coloured  shells  on  the  sea-shore,  while  the 
great  ocean  of  scientific  research  lay  unexplored  and  unknown 
beyond. 

The  other  equally  forbidding  idea  to  which  I  allude  is  this, 
namely,  that  to  cultivate  literature  with  success,  and  to  earn 
fame  and  renown,  we  must  isolate  ourselves  altogether  from 
the  world,  any  contact  with  which  would  effectually  destroy 
every  noble  impulse,  and  check  and  impede  every  lofty  and 
hallowed  aspiration.  To  disprove  this,  willing  witaesses  are 
so  numerous,  that  I  scarcely  know  whom  to  select  I  wiU, 
however,  confidently  rest  my  case  on  the  following  evidence  : — 

Saadi,  the  Persian  poet,  in  one  of  his  delightful  Fable 
stories,  teaches  a  veiy  pleasant  and  instructive  moral  truth. 
He  describes,  in  oriental  imagery,  the  gorgeous  splendoar  of 
a  garden  of  roses,  in  which  two  friends  of  opposite  tastes 
spent  a  beautiful  summer  day  in  the  most  exquisite  enjoyment 
of  its  varied  and  effulgent  beauty.  Their  tastes  and  feelings, 
however,  practically  manifested  themselves  at  the  close^  in 
very  marked,  and  opposite  directions.  While  the  one  was 
satisfied  and  contented  with  the  colours  and  perfume  of  the 
flowers,  the  other  resolved  that  those  nearest  and  dearest  to 
him  should  share  in  his  enjoyment  and  pleasure  by  gathering 
the  choicest  bloom  and  carrying  it  to  his  family.     The  every 


THE  ABBEY  OF  CUPAR-ANGUS.  423 

daj  home  life  of  a  man  of  genius  is  the  great  moral  indirectly 
inculcated  in  the  fascinating  story. 

"  0  bliss,  when  all  in  circle  drawn 

About  him,  heart  and  ear  were  fed. 
To  hear  him  as  he  lay  and  read 
The  Tuscan  poets  on  the  lawn." 

The  moral  of  the  rose  garden  is  fully  and  lovingly  exempli- 
fied by  Sterne,  when  in  tiie  midst  of  his  family,  he  cheerfully 
pursues  his  literary  studies.  ^'I  am  scribbling  away/'  he 
says,  "  4t  my  Tristram ;  these  two  volumes  are,  I  think,  the 
best  I  slall  write  as  long  as  I  live.  My  Lydia  helps  to  copy 
for  me,  md  my  wife  knits  and  listens  as  I  read  her  chapters." 

The  dimestic  life  of  Milton,  like  that  of  not  a  few  other 
noble,  ycb  sensitive  poets,  is  generally  believed  to  have  been 
an  unha)py  one.  Still,  he  must  at  some  period  of  his 
literary  lareer,  have  carried  the  rose-leaves  to  his  family 
circle,  ele  he  could  not  have  invited  a  chosen  firiend  to  a 

**  Neat  repast 
Of  Attic  taste  with  wine,  when  we  may  rise 
To  hear  the  lute  well-touched,  or  artful  voice 
Warble  immortal  notes,  and  Tuscan  air." 

Neither  jould  he  have  written  the  tender,  love-breathing 
lines  •'  Oi  his  Deceased  Wife,'*  unless  he  had,  to  some  extent, 
comparatively  enjoyed  the  comforts  and  pleasures  of  the  home- 
life  >f  genius : — 

"  Methought  I  saw  my  late  espoused  saint 

Brought  to  me,  like  Alcestis,  from  the  grave, 

*  Whom  Jove's  great  son  to  her  glad  husband  gave. 

Rescued  from  death  by  force,  though  pale  and  faint. 

Mine,  as  whom  washed  from  spot  of  child-bed  taint 
Purification  in  the  old  law  did  save, 
And  such,  as  yet  once  more  I  trust  to  have 

Full  sight  of  her  in  heaven  without  restraint. 

Came  vested  all  in  white,  pure  as  her  mind  ; 
Her  face  was  veiled  ;  yet  to  my  fancied  sight 

Love,  sweetest  goodness,  in  her  bosom  shined, 
So  clear,  as  in  no  face  with  more  delight. 

But,  0  I  as  to  embrace  me  she  inclined, 
I  waked,  she  fled ;  and  day  brought  back  my  night" 


424  STRATHMORE ;  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

How  feelingly  the  German  poet,  Pfizer,  pictures  hifi  present 
onhappy  and  restless  state,  in  sad  contrast  with  his  fomer 
domestic  joys : — 

"  A  youth,  light-hearted  and  content, 
I  wander  through  the  world  ; 
Here,  Arab-like,  is  pitehed  my  tent, 
And  straight  again  is  furled. 

"  Yet  oft  I  dream  that  once  a  wife 
Close  in  my  heart  was  locked, 
And  in  the  sweet  repose  of  life 
A  blessed  child  I  rocked. 

'*  I  wake  1  away  that  dream — away  ! 

Too  long  did  it  remain  ! 
So  long,  that  both  by  night  and  day 
It  eyer  comes  again." 

We  can  appreciate  and  ftdly  enjoy  the  graphic  decription 
by  Cowper  of  the  pure  and  innocent  enjoyments  of  i  winter 
evening  in  the  snug  cozy  parlour,  when  the  curtans  have 
been  closely  drawn  over  the  darkened  windows,  the  lixurious 
sofa  gently  wheeled  before  the  cheerful  hearth,  "  the  tups  that 
cheer,  but  not  inebriate,"  circling  freely  among  the  aisenbled 
guests,  amidst ''  the  feast  of  reason,  and  the  flow  of  s<ul.' 

After  his  marriage.  Bums,  we  know,  was  never  satified 
with  the  composition  of  his  songs  until,  in  the  privacy  of  his 
family,  he  had  heard  them  sung  by  his  "bonnie  Jean."  No 
occupation,  indeed,  seemed  so  much  after  his  own  heart  as 
that  of  composing  and  writing  out  his  poetic  effusions  in  he 
midst  of  household  duties,  and  youthful,  frolicsome  amue- 
ments. 

The  melancholy  and  awful  death  of  the  accomplished  wfe 
of  Longfellow,  has,  so  far  as  she  is  concerned,  effectual 
sealed  his  lips  and  unnerved  his  pen,  for  no  ''  In  MemorianoP 
so  far  as  I  know,  has  appeared  to  her  memory.  The  poQ 
however,  in  his  description  of  his  own  home-life  of  genius 
had  previously  recorded  in  "The  Day  is  Done,"  how  mucl 
her  loving  and  appreciative  society  served  effectually  to  soothe 


THE  ABBEY  OF  CUPAR-ANGUS.  425 

and  comfort  him  after  the  fatiguing  toils  and  labours  of  the 
day:— 

"  The  day  is  done,  and  the  darkness 
Falls  from  the  wings  of  Night, 
As  a  feather  is  wafted  downward 
From  an  eagle  in  his  flight. 

«  Come,  read  to  me  some  poem, 
Some  simple  and  heart-felt  lay, 
That  shaU  soothe  this  restless  feeling, 
And  banish  the  thoughts  of  day. 

"  Then  read  from  the  treasured  volume 
The  poem  of  thy  choice, 
And  lend  to  the  rhyme  of  the  poet 
The  beauty  of  thy  voice. 

"  And  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  music, 
And  the  cares  that  infest  the  day, 
Shall  fold  their  tents,  like  the  Arabs, 
And  as  silently  steal  away.'* 

The  moonlight  garden-suppers  of  Titian,  rendered  intensely 
delicious  by  the  fascinating  music  of  the  ladies  of  Venice ; 
the  domestic  happiness  and  peace  of  Pliny,  a  scholar  of 
seventeen  hundred  years  ago ;  the  grotto  of  Eichardson ;  the 
poetic  hearth  of  Weston;  the  study  of  Jewell;  the  well- 
regulated  household  of  Bishop  Hall ;  the  happy  and  peaceful 
homes  of  Wordsworth  and  Southey,  by  the  beautiful  lakes  of 
the  now  classic  Westmoreland,  all  breathed  the  perfume  of  the 
rose  garden,  in  the  most  beautiful  and  instructive  sense  of  the 
Persian  allegory. 

To  bring  our  evidence  to  a  close,  have  we  not  a  striking 
testimony  to  the  quiet  pleasures  of  the  home-life  of  a  young 
genius,  in  our  own  loved  "  Delta,*'  who,  only  so  lately,  passed 
away  from  amongst  us.  A  physician,  in  extensive  practice, 
like  Mr  Moir,  could  not  select  his  own  time  for  study  and 
composition.  But,  believe  it,  there  is  a  time  for  everything. 
It  is  only  those  who  have  least  to  do,  who  complain  the  most 
for  want  of  time.  System,  with  a  fixed  determination  to 
occupy  every  moment  of  our  time,  will  enable  us  to  overcome 


426      STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

every  obstacle,  and  to  find  leisure  for  study  and  contemplation^ 
when  the  man  without  method,  in  the  arrangement  of  his 
time,  cannot  satisfstctorily  perform  any  duty  whatsoever. 

What  did  the  gentle  "  Delta "  do  then,  after  the  tunnoil 
and  bustle  of  a  busy  day  1  Did  he  retire  in  a  fit  of  dreamy 
abstraction,  shutting  himself  up  from  his  family  and  the  world, 
only  to  re-appear  again  when  the  inspiration  of  his  genius  had 
passed  away  7  No,  he  sat  down  in  his  usual  seat,  collected 
and  arranged  his  papers,  and  thought,  meditated,  and 
composed,  in  the  midst  of  his  affectionate  family. 

But  all  this  neither  implies  that  the  task  of  the  poet  or 
literateur  is  an  easy  one,  nor  that  everyone  who  attempts  to 
scale  the  rugged  hill  of  fame,  returns  successful  from  the 
pursuit.  That  genius  is  labour,  and  toil  alone  will  produce 
inspiration,  is  one  of  the  most  illusive  and  chimerical  dogmas 
ever  propounded  by  any  school  of  philosophy,  ancient  or 
modem.  Conception  must  be  in  the  mind,  God-sent,  original, 
eternal  Studious  labour,  scientific  art,  with  all  extraneous 
means  to  boot,  will  never  create  true  genius,  with  its  holy 
unction  and  divine  afflatus,  these  forming  part  of  the 
indescribable  Divine  Essence  itself,  and  communicated  to 
man  by  the  unchangeable  decree  of  the  Great  Original. 

Hence,  no  genuine  poet  can  compose  immortal  verse,  until 
the  glow  of  divine  inspiration  kindles  into  burning  flame  the 
latent  powers  of  his  genius ;  and  then,  with  his  singing  robes 
about  him,  and  his  far-seeing  prophetic  vision  lighted  up  by 
celestial  fire,  he  attunes  his  harp  of  song  to  the  sweet  notes  of 
its  native  music.  To  vmte  to  order,  or  to  unfold  the  subtle- 
ties or  beauties  of  a  prescribed  theme,  is  simply  beyond  the 
power  of  the  poet  of  Nature.  Pre-eminently  the  child  of 
impulse  and  passion,  he  never  attempts  composition  until  he 
feels  in  his  innermost  soul  the  divine  fire  of  holy  inspiration  ; 
nor  prolongs  his  efforts  beyond  its  subsidence,  and  withdrawal. 
Bums  says,  "Poesy  was  still  a  darling  walk  for  my  mind, 
but  it  was  only  indulged  in  according  to  the  humour  of  the 
hour.     I  had  usually  half-a-dozen  or  more  pieces  on  hand ;  I 


THE  ABBEY  OF  CUPAR- ANGUS.  427 

took  up  one  or  other,  as  it  suited  the  momentary  tone  of  the 
mind,  and  dismissed  the  work  as  it  bordered  on  fatigue.  My 
passions,  when  once  lighted  up,  raged  like  so  many  devils,  till 
they  got  vent  in  rhyme  and  then  the  conning  over  my  verses, 
like  a  spell,  soothed  all  into  quiet !  "  It  was  under  a  passionate 
spell  of  heroic  inspiration,  he  also  informs  us,  that  while 
riding  over  a  wild  and  lonely  moor,  amidst  the  darkness,  and 
the  tliunder,  and  the  tempest,  he  composed  that  immortal 
song :  "  Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled  ! "  In  similar  moods 
of  poetic  abstraction,  he  composed  the  sublime  ode :  "  To  Mary 
in  Heaven  ; "  and  that  affecting  and  beautiful  song :  '^  The 
Soldier's  Eeturn."  "  The  Poetic  Genius  of  my  country  found 
me,"  he  beautifully  exclaims,  "  as  the  prophetic  bard,  Elijah, 
did  Elisha — at  the  Plough  ;  and  threw  her  inspiring  mantle 
over  me.  She  bade  me  sing  the  loves,  the  joys,  the  rural 
scenes,  and  rural  pleasures  of  my  native  soil,  in  my  native 
tongue :  I  tuned  my  wild  artless  notes  as  she  inspired." 

Hail,  Genius  1  Genius  !  kin  art  thou  to  God  ; 
The  golden  chain  tliat  binds  the  world  of  mind  ; 
The  bridge,  connecting  mortal  with  immortal ; 
The  heart  whoee  every  beat  vibrates  the  world. 
Whose  great  pulsations  stir  eternity. 

Beautiful  and  sonorous  as  are  the  sounding  periods  of 
Gibbon,  we  have  it  on  record  that  he  "wrote  slowly." 
"Everybody,''  says  Goldsmith,  "wrote  better,  because  he 
wrote  faster  than  I."  Gowper's  pleasant  Task  was  constructed, 
we  are  informed,  "  with  weariness  and  watching."  Addison 
composed  so  slowly,  that  the  patience  of  his  printer  was 
invariably  exhausted  while  waiting  for  "copy.*'  Campbell, 
we  know,  composed  with  toilsome  effort,  re-writing,  and 
polishing  his  poems  and  songs,  with  indomitable  yet  painfully 
protracted  labour.  Even  the  exquisite  lyrics,  and  passionate 
love-songs  of  Bums,  were  the  fruitage  of  much  continuous 
and  laborious  effort  The  divine  instinct  was  there,  but  a 
certain  amount  of  labour  was  requisite  to  crown  the  creations 
of  genius  with  effective  and  substantial  maturity.  Pope 
is  probably  the  most  elegant  and  musical  of  all  poets  ;  yet  in 
addressing  lus  friend  Jervas  he,  confessingly,  says : — 


428  STRATHMOKE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

"  How  oft  in  pleasing  tasks  we  wear  the  day. 
While  summer  suns  roll  unperceived  away  ; 
How  oft  our  ilowly-growiTig  toorks  impart, 
While  images  reflect  from  art  to  art/* 

Dr  Chalmers,  pursuing  the  same  theme,  very  forcibly 
remarks : — "  There  is  a  certain  showy  and  superficial  some- 
thing which  can  be  done  in  a  very  short  time.  One  may  act 
the  part  of  a  harlequin  with  his  mind,  as  well  as  with  his 
body;  and  there  is  a  sort  of  mental  agility  which  always 
gives  me  the  impression  of  a  harlequin.  Anything  which  can 
be  spoken  of  as  a  feat,  is  apt  to  suggest  this  association. 
That  man,  for  example,  was  a  thorough  harlequin,  in  both 
senses  of  the  word,  who  boasted  that  he  could  throw  off  a 
hundred  verses  of  poetry  while  he  stood  upon  one  foot.  There 
was  something  for  wonder  in  this ;  but  it  is  rarely  by  any  such 
exploit  that  we  obtain  deep,  and  powerful,  and  enduring 
poetry.  It  is  by  dint  of  steady  labour — ^it  is  by  giving 
enough  of  application  to  the  work,  and  having  enough  of  time 
for  the  doing  of  it — ^it  is  by  regular  painstaking,  and  the 
plying  of  constant  assiduities — it  is  by  these,  and  not  by  any 
process  of  legerdemain,~that  we  secure  the  strength  and  the 
staple  of  real  excellence." 

Lord  Cockburn,  in  his  Life  of  Jeffrey,  also  says — 

"If  there  be  anything  valuable  in  the  history  of  his 
(Jeffrey's)  progress,  it  seems  to  me  to  consist  chiefly  in  the 
example  of  meritorious  labour  which  his  case  exhibits  to 
young  men,  even  of  the  highest  talent.  .  .  .  His  early 
passion  for  distinction  was  never  separated  from  the  conviction, 
that  in  order  to  obtain  it,  he  must  work  for  it." 

With  reference  to  literature  as  a  profession.  Lord  Cockburn 
elsewhere  most  justly  remarks — "Literature  is  seldom  more 
graceful  than  when  combined  with  something  more  soUd." 

But  success,  alas!  crowns  but  few  of  the  aspirants  after 
fame.  Many  go  forth  to  the  battle — how  few  victoriously 
return ! — 

Broad-shouldered  men  there  be  with  iron  nerves, 
Who  safe  the  storm,  howe'er  severe,  withstand ; 


THE  ABBEY  OF  CUPAR-ANGUS.  429 

Yet)  oh  1  beneath  the  waves  how  many  sink. 
Whose  spirits  weak  and  timid,  all  unfit 
With  blustering  tempests  to  contend  ;  depressed 
By  words  unkind,  clown-usage  rough ;  would  fain 
To  life  and  hope  have  clung,  had  one  kind  word 
Been  whispered  softly,  bidding  them  *  God  i^eed' 
Upon  their  dark  and  perilous  way ;  the  star 
Of  gladsome  hope  bright  rising  'mid  the  gloom. 
To  cheer  them  onward  to  the  height  of  fame. 

The  quiet  and  pleasant  town  of  Cupar-in- Angus,  wluch  we 
are  now  approaching,  is  beautifully  situated  in  the  centre  of 
Strathmore.  The  greater  part  of  the  town  is  in  the  county 
of  Perth,  but  the  ancient  part  of  it  being  in  Angus,  the 
parish  takes  it  name  from  that  county ;  the  bum  which  runs 
through  the  town  dividing  the  two  shires  from  each  other. 

The  church  and  burial  ground,  on  the  Angus  side  of  the 
stream,  now  occupy  the  site  of  the  once  famous  and  magnifi- 
cent Abbey  of  Cupar. 

There  is  great  uncertainty  as  to  the  origin  of  the  name,  Cupar. 
The  ancient  forms  in  which  the  word  is  written,  are  Culpyr, 
Culpar,  Cuper,  Cupre,  Cupir,  Cupyr,  and  Cupar;  and  the  more 
modem,  Cowpir,  Cowper,  Coupar  and  Cupar-in-Angus,  to 
distinguish  it  from  Cupar-in-Fife.  Some  handsome  villas, 
with  flower  and  fruit  gardens,  surround  the  town,  which  add 
very  much  to  its  adornment  and  beauty.  Formerly  the 
inhabitants  were  chiefly  employed  in  hand-loom  weaving ;  but 
since  the  introduction  of  steam-loom  power  by  several  enter- 
prising Arms  some  few  years  ago,  the  aspect  of  the  town  has 
been  happily  changed  from  a  torpid  and  lethargic  condition, 
to  a  lively  state  of  great  vigour,  and  industrious  vitality.  So 
very  marked  has  been  the  rapid  transformation,  that  it  may 
without  exaggeration  be  said,  that  the  town  was  never  in  such 
a  progressively  flourishing  state  at  any  former  period  of  its 
history. 

The  churchyard  contains  some  very  elegant  monuments  to 
the  memory  of  the  Hays  of  Ballendoch,  and  other  ancient 
families  connected  with  the  parish.    A  number  of  stone  co£Bns 


430  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

are  also  to  be  seen  at  the  east  and  west  ends  of  the  church,  all 

in  a  good  state  of  preservation.     A  flat  flag  inside  the  church, 

800  years  old,  on  which  is  the  effigy  of  a  Bishop  in  robes  and 

mitre  still  sharp  and  clear  in  outline,  forms  a  most  interesting 

object  of  study  to  the  antiquarian.     In  the  south  porch  of  the 

church  is  the  effigy  of  a  warrior  very  much  defaced ;  and  also 

the  sides  of  an  ancient  tomb  found  in  the  churchyard  some 

years  ago,  on  which  are  distinctly  and  beautifully  cut  the 

figures  of  warriors,  templars,  and  begging  monks. 

But  you  wonder,  no  doubt,  why  in  the  presence  of  the 

''mighty  dead,"  and  amidst  the  precious  memorials  of  the 

ecclesiastical  magnificence  of  a  former  age,  that  I  so  sadly,  yet 

lovingly  linger  beside  that  little  grave  of  yesterday  1     Two 

short  years  ago  I  came  here  to  see  a  grand-child,  who  had 

been  previously  laid  on  a  sick  bed.     I  found  him  better  than 

I  had  expected,  looking  cheerful  and  comparatively  happy. 

Before  I  left  for  home  in  the  evening  he  sat  a  little  while  on 

my  knee  and  chatted  to  me  as  usual,  and  I  bade  him  adieu  in 

the  full  hope,  not  only  that  the  crisis  of  his  illness  was  past, 

but  that  he  was  on  a  fair  way  for  complete  recovery.     Very 

early  next  morning  I  was  roused  by  a  loud  ominous  rap.     A 

telegram  was  handed  to  me  in  silence.    Poor  Willie  was  dead  ! 

Very  sad,  dear  reader :  is  it  not  1     Before  we  enter  the  sacred 

precincts  of  the  grand  old  Abbey,  you  may  sympathisingly 

indulge  me  by  reading  his  Epitaph : — 

In  Memoriam. 

Yestreen — a  gladsome  sight  to  see. 
You  prattled  cheerful  on  mj  knee. 
This  mom — ^that  Telegram — ^woes  me  ! 
My  poor,  dear  Willie 

Now  to  thy  dark,  funereal  dome, 
All  weeping  sad,  I  sorrowing  come. 
Thy  little  coffin  now  thy  home 
My  own  dear  Willie  ! 

But  thou'rt  not  dead  ?  thy  curls  of  gold. 
In  tresses  o'er  thy  brow  unfold, 
Thine  eye  is  bright,  expression  bold ; 
Arise,  dear  Willie  I 


THE  ABBEY  OF  CUPAR-ANGUS.  431 

There,  take  my  hand ;  adown  the  walk, 
Let  me  sweet  hear  thy  silvery  talk, 
PuU  winter  flow'rets  from  their  stalk, 
My  own  dear  Willie  1 

Hush  !  hush  1  a  gathering  mist  upsprings, 
A  noise  o'erhead  of  rushing  wings. 
An  angel  surely  welcome  sings — 
Hold  fast,  dear  Willie  I 

What  voice  is  that  which  calls — "Arise, 
Thy  crown  awaits  thee  in  the  sides, 
Come  with  me  now  to  Paradise ; 
AUhaill  dearWiUie!" 

Now  in  my  breast  arise  dread  fears, 
Heav'n's  glory  through  the  clouds  appears, 
I  cannot  see  thee  through  my  tears — 
Where  art  thou— Willie  T 

Hast  thou  ascended  bright  thy  throne, 
Thy  ramblings  o'er,  thy  brief  life  done  ? 
Alas  !  Alas  !  I  feel  Alone — 
Farewell — dear  Willie  ! 

The  Abbey  Mill  stands  about  150  yards  to  the  west  of  the 
church,  and  is  now  used  as  a  plash  mill  for  cleaning  yam. 
"  To  what  base  uses  we  may  return,  Horatio  1 " 

It  is  the  current  belief  that  the  two  old  Scotch  firs  by  the 
side  of  the  turnpike  road  immediately  to  the  west  of  the 
churchyard,  were  at  one  time  enclosed  within  the  Abbey 
grounds,  and  are  as  old  as  the  Abbey  itself.  I  have  great 
difficulty,  however,  in  giving  credence  to  the  popular  belief,  as 
it  is  scarcely  within  the  range  of  probability,  that  that  kind  of 
tree  can  be  of  such  great  age.  The  Scotch  fir  if  not  cut  down 
when  it  has  reached  the  age  of  sixty  or  seventy  years,  decays 
and  soon  withers  away.  The  larch,  on  the  contrary,  becomes 
the  more  endurable  the  longer  it  is  allowed  to  grow. 

The  foUowing  rare  plants  are  found  in  the  parish,  namely, 
Straiiotes  aloides,  Lysvmachia  thyrdflora^  Tragopogon  major, 
Tencrium  chamaedrys,  Hyoscyamus  niger,  Sambucus  ebidus. 

The  Abbey,  it  is  believed,  was  built  on  the  site  of  a  Roman 
camp.    The  remains  of  the  latter  are  still  to  be  seen  immedi- 


432  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

ately  to  the  east  of  the  churchyard.  It  is  described  by  Mait- 
land  in  his  History  of  Scotland,  as  a  square  of  1200  feet, 
fortified  with  two  strong  ramparts  and  large  ditches.  It  has 
been  surmised  to  be  one  of  the  famous  camps  of  Lollius 
Urbicus,  but  this  is  mere  conjecture  resting  on  no  solid 
foundation  whatever. 

From  Balfour's  Annals,  we  learn,  the  Abbey  of  Cupar  is  said 
to  have  been  one  of  three  religious  houses  which  Ring 
Malcolm  the  Maiden  founded  in  Scotland  during  the  year  11 64, 
the  other  two  being  the  Hospital  of  Soutra,  in  Midlothian, 
and  the  Nunnery  of  Manuel,  near  Linlithgow.  Wyntown  in 
"De  Orygynale  Crony kil  of  Scotland,"  thus  quaintly  records 
its  foundation : — 

''  A  thowsand  a  hundyre  and  sexty  yhere 
And  f owre  .... 

Malcolme,  Eyng  of  Scotland, 
And  peysybly  in  it  regnand, 
The  elevynd  yhere  of  his  crowne. 
Mad  the  fundatyowne, 
Of  the  Abbay  of  Culp3rr-in-Angw8, 
And  dowyt  it  wyth  hys  Almws, 
In  honoure  of  the  maykles  May  : 
Relygyws  Munkis  thare  dwellis  ay, 
All  lyk  to  Cyatwya  in  habyt ; 
We  oys  to  call  thame  Monkis  qwhyt. " 

The  Cistertian  monks,  referred  to  by  Wyntown,  were  known 
also  as  white  monks,  their  garments  with  the  exception  of 
the  cowl  and  scapular,  being  entirely  white.  Fordun,  in  his 
" Scotichronicon,"  says — "Anno  mclxiv.,  de  consilio  Wal- 
theri,  Abbatis  de  Mebos,  rex  Malcolmus,  fundavit  nobile 
monasterium  de  Cupro-in-Angus.*'  He  adds  further  on — "  Hoc 
Anno  (1233)  dedicatee  sunt  ecclesisd  de  Newbotil  Abirbrothoc, 
et  cupro."  In  regard  to  the  revenues  of  the  Abbey,  Boeoe 
says, — "  £a  est  abbacia  divsB  virgini  sacra,  amplissimi^  dotata 
redditibus.  Inhabitant  earn  viri  religiosi  ordinis  Oistertii, 
multa  pietate  celebres ;  nee  in  hunc  usque  diem  ullo  notati 
manifesto  flagitio." 

In  the  Book  of  Assumptions,  the  rentals  of  the  Abbey  were 


THE  ABBEY  OF  CUPAR-ANGUS.  433 

valued  at  £1886,  8s.  6d;  and  by  Keith  at  £1238,  Us.  9d,  in 
money,  besides  wheat,  bear,  meal,  and  oats,  amounting 
altogether  to  180  chalders,  30  bolls,  9  pecks,  and  5  J  lippies. 
Malcolm  the  Maiden,  founder  of  the  Abbey,  contributed  also 
very  largely  to  its  revenues  and  endowment  Of  these  gifts 
there  are  two  charters,  dated  from  Traquare,  witnessed  by 
Gillebride,  Earl  of  Angus,  and  other  notables,  which  were 
afterwards  confirmed  by  William  the  Lion.  These  deeds 
confirmed  to  the  monks  of  Cupar,  the  whole  of  the  King's 
lands  of  Cupar,  support  from  the  royal  forest,  and  fuel  also 
therefrom  for  the  use  of  the  monks.  King  William  and 
Alexander  11.  were  both  princely  benefactors  of  the  Abbey, 
the  former  giving  the  lands  of  Aberbothry,  Keithock,  and 
Parthesin  (Pearsie)  and  granting  the  monks  (1165-6)  freedom 
throughout  Scotland  from  toUage,  passage,  markets,  and  other 
customs,  etc,  and  the  latter,  among  his  many  grants,  were  a 
discharge  to  them  *'  airimam  waytingam  quam  facere  solebant 
falconariis  predecessorum  meorum  de  terra  de  Abrith,"  and  a 
yearly  gift  of  ten  pounds  of  silver  from  the  lands  of  Glenisla. 

The  greatest  benefactors  of  the  Abbey,  however,  whether 
for  extent  or  value,  were  undoubtedly  the  Hays  of  Errol. 
Soon  after  William  of  Hay  received  from  King  William  the 
Lion,  the  manor  of  ErroL  About  1 170,  he  made  a  donation  of 
the  lands  of  Ederpoles  in  that  district,  to  the  Abbey  of  Cupar, 
in  pure  and  perpetual  alms.  The  family  during  many  suc- 
cessive generations,  continued  by  their  grants  of  net  fishings 
in  the  Tay  ;  pasture  and  fishings  of  Ederpoles ;  and  lands  in 
the  Carse  of  Gowrie,  considerably  to  enrich  the  revenues  of 
the  Abbey.  In  1585  (Spalding  Club  Miscell.)  is  recorded  upon 
a  tablet  preserved  at  the  monastery,  the  seventh  Earl  of  Errol 
was  buried  at  Cupar  beside  thirteen  of  his  predecessors. 

It  also  appears  from  Douglas'  Peerage,  Brev.  Eeg.  de  Cupro, 

Balfour's  Annals,  &c.,  that  William  of  Montealt,  William  of 

Muschet,  Henry  of  Brechin,  Thomas  of  Lundie,  Sir  James 

Lindsay  of  Crawford,  and  the  princely  families  of  Panmure 

and  Athole,  were  early  and  extensive  benefactors  of  the 

2s 


434  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Abbey.  Possessing  lands  in  addition  to  those  already 
enumerated,  in  the  parish  of  Fossaway ;  the  estates  of 
Keithock,  Arthurstone,  Denhead,  Balgersho,  Cronan,  in  the 
parish  of  Cupar ;  and  Cupar  Grange,  the  home-farm  of  the 
Abbey,  and  country  seat  of  the  Abbot,  in  the  parish  of 
Bendochy ;  and  Drimmie,  Persie,  and  Monk's  Cally,  in  the 
same  neighbourhood,  it  must  have  been  at  that  early  period, 
one  of  the  most  richly  endowed  religious  houses  in  the 
country. 

From  the  time  of  the  first  recorded  Abbot,  Fulc,  in  1165, 
to  that  of  Donald  Campbell,  fourth  son  of  Archibald,  second 
Earl  of  Argyll,  who  was  appointed  Abbot  on  the  18th  of  June 
1526,  a  long  line  of  illustrious  names  continued  to  enrich 
the  historic  annals  of  the  Abbey  of  Cupar.  Campbell  was, 
in  many  respects,  the  most  eminent  of  the  Abbots  of  Cupar. 
He  was  one  of  the  twenty  lords,  who,  in  1546,  composed  the 
secret  council  of  the  Earl  of  Arran  ;  and  owing  probably,  to  his 
high  birth  and  great  influence,  was  for  sometime  lord  privy  seal 
to  Queen  Mary.  He  was  appointed  to  the  See  of  Brechin 
on  the  death  of  Bishop  Hepburn,  but  according  to  Keith's 
"Scottish  Bishops,"  owing  to  his  favour  for  the  reformed 
doctrines,  his  appointment  was  not  confirmed  by  the  court  of 
Kome,  and  he  never  assumed  the«  title  of  Bishop.  He 
practically  showed  his  leanings  to  the  Reformation  by  attending 
the  parliament  in  August  1560,  which  annulled  the  Papal 
jurisdiction  in  Scotland. 

Campbell,  the  last  Abbot,  died  in  1562,  or  about  two  years 
after  the  overthrow  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  in  Scotland. 
To  each  of  his  five  illegitimate  sons,  he  gave  an  estate  out  of 
the  Abbacy.  The  church  properties  assigned  to  them  respec- 
tively were  Keithic,  Balgersho,  Denhead,  Cronan,  and  Arthur- 
stone.  Two  of  Campbell's  sons, — Nicol  of  Keithic,  and 
Donald  of  Denhead — were  interred  in  the  church  of  Bendochy, 
where  their  tombs  are  still  to  be  seen.  After  the  Reformation 
the  Church  lands  which  fell  to  the  crown,  were  bestowed  by 
the  king  on  special  personal  favourites,  who    were   called 


THE  ABBEY  OF  CUPAR-ANOUS.  435 

Commendators.  Those  of  the  Abbey  of  Cupar,  were  given  to 
Leonard  Leslie,  who  died  in  1605,  at  the  advanced  age  of 
eighty-one,  and  was  also  buried  in  the  same  church.  He  is 
designed  upon  his  tombstone,  which  is  very  entire,  as 
"  Dcminus  de  Cupro/*  and  Commendator  of  Cupar. 

The  oldest  known  seal  of  the  Abbey  belongs  to  the  time  of 
Abbot  Andrew,  in  1292,  which  bears,  according  to  Laing's 
Scottish  Seals,  "  the  design  of  a  hand  vested,  issuing  from  the 
sinister  side  of  the  seal,  holding  a  crozier,  between  two  fleurs 
de-lis^  Besides  this  counter  seal,  there  are  three  other 
seals  described  by  Laing.  The  principal  one  of  the  three, — 
which  all  belong  to  the  time  of  Abbot  Donald — is  "  a  rich 
design.  Within  a  gothic  niche,  a  figure  of  the  Virgin  sitting, 
holding  in  her  right  hand  a  bunch  of  lilies,  and  her  left  sup- 
porting the  infant  Jesus  standing  on  a  seat  beside  her ;  in 
the  lower  part  of  the  seal,  within  an  arched  niche,  an  Abbot 
in  front,  with  a  crozier,  kneeling  at  prayer ;  at  the  sides  of  the 
niche  are  two  shields,  the  dexter  one  bearing  the  arms  of  Scot- 
land, and  the  sinister  three  escutcheons,  being  the  bearing  of 
Hay,"  with  the  legend,   "S'CoMUNE  Capitu  Li  Mon  De 

CUPRO." 

The  Abbey  of  Cupar  was,  on  several  occasions,  the  tempor- 
ary residence  of  the  king  and  court.  King  Alexander  H. 
visited  this  Convent  in  1246,  and  on  the  12th  November  of 
that  year  executed  a  charter  dated  from  the  Abbey,  by  which 
he  granted  a  hundred  shillings  to  the  Abbey  of  Arbroath. 
Bobert  the  Bruce,  on  25th  December  1317,  confirmed  the 
charters  of  the  lands  of  Eskdale  to  Sir  John  Graham,  also 
dated  from  the  same  place.  King  Robert  II.  was  at  the 
Abbey  on  several  occasions  during  the  year  1378  ;  and  Queen 
Mary  in  August  1562,  visited  Cupar  while  on  her  journey  to 
quell  the  famous  Huntly  rebellion  in  the  north.  Sir  William 
Wallace  taxed  the  hospitality  of  the  Abbey  in  1297,  and  so 
frightened  the  Abbot  and  monks  that  they  fled  in  a  body  at 
his  approach,  leaving  him  and  his  followers  in  the  undisturbed 
possession  of  the  Convent 


436  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

King  James  YI.  having,  according  to  Jervise,  united  the 
remaining  lands  and  baronies  of  the  monastery  into  a 
temporary  lordship,  conferred  them  on  20th  December  1607, 
with  the  title  of  Lord  Cupar,  upon  James  Elphinstone,  sec<)nd 
son  of  the  first  Lord  Balmerino.  Lord  Cupar  died  some  sixty 
years  afterwards,  and  having  no  family,  the  title  and  estates 
devolved  on  his  nephew,  the  third  Lord  Balmerino.  This 
nobleman  having  joined  the  standard  of  the  Pretender, 
the  temporal  lordship  of  Cupar,  together  with  the  patrimonial 
estates  of  the  family,  were  forfeited  to  the  crown  in  1746, 

The  office  of  hereditary  baiUe  of  the  regality  of  the 
Abbey,  was  conferred  by  Abbot  Donald,  in  1540,  upon  James, 
Lord  Ogilvy.  The  Earl  of  Airlie,  in  whose  family  the  office 
had  continuously  remained,  received  X800,  in  compensation 
for  the  loss  of  this  distinction,  when,  in  1747,  heritable 
jurisdictions  were  formally  abolished 

In  the  Ogilvy  family  also  was  vested  the  office  of  heritable 
porter  or  gate-keeper  to  the  Abbey  of  Cupar.  The  earliest 
appointment  to  this  office,  was  made  by  the  Convent  in 
the  time  of  Abbot  John,  a  charter  being  then  granted  to 
John  Porter,  of  the  office  of  porter  of  the  Monastery. 
This  office  became  vested  in  the  Ogilvys  in  1589,  a  contract 
having  on  the  12th  March  of  that  year,  been  entered  into 
between  William  Ogilvy  of  Easter  Keilor,  and  "John 
Faryar,'*  porter  of  the  Abbey,  the  adopted  son  of  Robert 
Porter,  anent  the  office  of  porter  of  the  monastery,  cell,  and 
porter  lodge,  and  pension  of  55  merks,  &c.  This  was  followed 
by  a  charter  of  the  office,  by  the  said  "  John  Faryar,**  or 
"  John  Fairhar,"  with  consent  of  Robert  Porter,  to  William 
and  Archibald  Ogilvy  in  life-rent  and  fee,  dated  26th  May 
1590.     {Bremarium  Aniiqui  Registri  de  Cupro  in  Anegus,) 

After  passing  through  a  great  many  vicissitudes  of  fortune, 
such  as  feuds  in  the  year  1478,  with  Alexander  Guthrie  of 
that  ilk,  for  trying  to  evade  the  payment  of  thirlage  "  anent 
a  milne  biggit  on  the  landis  of  Kyncaldrum,  and  holdin  of 
the  multers  of  the  corns  of  the  samyn ; "  in  the  following  year 


THE  ABBEY  OF  CUPAR-ANGUS.  4  37 

with  Alexander  Lindsay,  son  of  the  Earl  of  Crawford,  for, 
"  the  taking  and  halding  of  twa  monkis  of  the  said  Abbey, 
(of  Cupar)  and  spulzeing  of  thair  horses  parking  at  thair  place, 
and  chusing  of  thair  servandis ; " — and  some  years  sub- 
sequently with  Robert  Hay,  son  of  Tullymet,  who  had,  with 
a  number  of  associates,  harried  their  lands  of  Pert  of  "  five 
skore  ky  and  oxen,  and  four  hors  and  meris,"  all  taken 
from  "  the  hirddis,  seruandis,  and  tenentis  of  the  landis  of  the 
convent ; "  the  Abbey's  affairs  got  into  a  more  settled  state 
in  the  time  of  Abbot  William,  and  the  brotherhood  found 
sufficient  leisure  to  direct  its  attention  towards  the  practical 
improvement  of  its  valuable  property. 

Tacks  of  land  were  granted  in  liferent  to  John  Pylmore, 
and  his  wife,  Catherine  Nicholson,  and,  "to  ane  ayr  maill 
lachfully  gottin  betwiex  thaim  tua."  The  lands  were  contigu- 
ous to  Cupar,  then  called  "our  burgh  of  Kethik;"  and  the 
tenants  were  to  have  right  to  "  fewell  in  our  Monkmuir,  as  we 
sail  assygn  to  thaim,  with  tua  Kyis  gyrs  in  the  commonties  of 
Baitchelhill  and  Gallweaw,  fail  and  dowet,  with  discretion  as 
effeirs.  '*  They  also  bound  themselves  to  "  put  the  said  toft, 
zard,  and  crofts,  till  all  possibyl  policy  in  biggyn,  of  gud  and 
sufficiand  zeird  houses  for  haw,  chawmerys,  and  stabuls,  to 
resave  and  herbry  to  the  nowmer  of  xij  or  xvj  horses  honestly 
as  effeirs,  for  hors  meit  and  manns  meit,  sua  that  of  reson  thar 
be  sein  na  fault  in  thaim;  plantand  fret  tris  with  thair 
defensours;  and  they  sail  keip  our  medowis,  wards,  and 
broumer  parks  frae  thaimself  and  thair  catel,  under  pain  as 
efferis."  The  Abbey  bound  itself,  on  the  other  hand,  to 
protect  and  defend  the  tenants,  and  "the  langest  liffer  of 
thaim,  but  fraud  or  gyle."     (Spalding  Club  Miscell.) 

The  tenant  of  Campsie,  in  the  parish  of  Cargill,  Alexander 
Macbroke,  advocate,  besides  an  annual  money  rent  of  twenty 
pounds  Scots,  was  bound  to  make  payments  in  kind  to  the 
Abbot  and  convent,  of  "  four  dozen  poultrie,  with  all  aryage, 
and  carriage,"  &c.,  and  on  receiving  twenty  four  hours*  warn- 
ing, he  had  to  "find  ane  sufficient  rowar  to  the  fishing  of 


438  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Neither  Campsey,  with  an  carriage  man  to  bring  hame  the 
fishe  frae  the  samyn ;  with  sufficient  wax  to  St  Hannand's  lygbt 
and  chapel :  And  also,  that  the  said  place  should  at  all  tim^s 
be  patent  and  ready  to  him  and  his  successors,  brethren,  and 
familie,  as  often  as  should  happen  him,  or  any  of  them  to  cone 
therto,  furnisht  with  four  feddir  beddis,  and  four  other  bedciis, 
convenient  for  servandes,  with  all  the  sundry  necessaries  per- 
taining to  said  awcht  beddis ;  and  also  upholding  said  place 
of  Campsey  in  sclates,  and  biggin ;  and  attour,  finding  burd 
claithis,  towalis,  pottes,  pannys,  plates,  dishes,  and  other 
necessaries  convenient  for  his  hall,  kitchen,  panntre,  bake- 
house, brewhouse,  and  celler,  as  eflfeirs  to  his  honesty  and 
familie  alenarlie,  with  elden  of  sawn  wood  and  browme." 
Old  Stat.  Acct.  of  Scot.) 

The  eictent  of  the'  Abbey  buildings  must  have  been  great, 
and  its  external  appearance  imposingly  grand,  as  were  all  the 
monasteries  of  Scotland  in  the  heyday  of  the  Papal  jurisdic- 
tion. Fanciful  plans  of  the  edifice  were  constructed  by  a  work- 
ing mason  some  hundred  and  twenty  years  after, — ^when  accord- 
ing to  Spottiswoode,  the  abbey  was  "  nothing  but  rubbish. " 
The  only  fragment  of  the  building  now  remaining  stands  at 
the  south-west  corner  of  the  churchyard,  a  venerable  and 
much-prized  relic,  as  this  ivy-covered  archway,  some  old  stone 
coffins,  imperfect  pieces  of  pillars,  and  a  few  mutilated  patches 
of  ornamental  masonry  in  the  Early  English  and  decorated 
styles  of  architecture,  are  all  that  remain  of  the  once  famous  and 
magnificent  Abbey  of  Cupar.  It  is  understood  to  have  been 
one  of  the  first  monastic  houses  destroyed  in  Scotland.  But 
painfully  complete  as  was  its  destruction  by  the  infuriated 
biggots  of  the  fanatical  John  Knox,  under  whose  ill-timed 
orders  they  acted;  the  good  citizens  of  Cupar  ruthlessly 
demolished  what  remained, — including  an  arch  of  singular 
beauty,  and  other  valuable  relics — "for  the  purpose,"  as  Dr 
Stevenson  informs  us,  "  of  furnishing  stones  for  building  the 
present  church!"  Worse  than  this,  it  was  literally  turned 
into  a  quarry;  from  which  unhallowed  hands  sacrilegiously 


THE  ABBEY  OF  CUPAR-ANGUS.  439 

carried  off  the  precious  remains  wherewith  to  build,  forsooth  ! 
ihe  ungainly  houses  and  garden  walls  of  the  burghers  !  Many 
ancient  carved  stones  may  yet  be  seen  built  into  dykes  and 
ninous  walls  throughout  the  town,  very  sad  and  deeply 
iiBtructive  memorials  of  the  past.  A  finely  cut  shield  also, 
b<aring  the  royal  lion  of  Scotland  in  excellent  preservation, 
fo*ms  part  of  a  common  wall  opposite  the  parish  church,  on 
th)  west  side  of  the  turnpike  road  leading  to  Dundee. 

\Mien  last  in  Cupar,  an  old  residenter  of  the  town  related 
to  me  the  following  tradition.  An  underground  communi- 
cation formerly  existed  between  the  solitary  remaining  arch 
of  the  ancient  Abbey,  already  alluded  to,  and  the  neighbour- 
ing south-western  Sidlaws.  It  was  discovered  by  some  workmen 
who  were  employed  in  the  construction  of  a  very  deep  drain, 
somewhere  between  the  extreme  points  of  the  subterraneous 
roadway.  One  of  the  workmen  more  courageous  than  the  rest, 
volunteered  to  explore  the  tunnel  to  the  north,  which  he  found 
to  terminate  immediately  beneath  the  old  crumbling  archway ; 
from  which  exploration  he  returned  skaithless  to  his  anxious 
and  wonder-stricken  comrades.  Emboldened  by  his  first 
successful  attempt  to  unravel  the  mystery,  he  had  the  hardihood 
to  attempt  a  solution  of  the  remaining  part  of  the  mystical 
passage ;  and  for  this  purpose  to  the  great  regret  and  consterna- 
tion of  his  fellows,  he  fearlessly  entered  the  dark  unknown 
pathway  leading  to  the  south.  All  that  day  and  night,  and 
many  succeeding  days  and  nights  they,  as  well  as  others, 
patiently  watched  and  waited  for  his  return.  He  never 
returned !  Whether  killed  outright  by  the  noxious  vapours  of 
the  vault,  or  spirited  away  by  the  Evil  One,  as  a  punishment 
for  his  temerity,  tradition  averreth  not.  After  a  long  time  of 
weary  watching,  the  entrance  to  the  dreaded  tunnel  was,  with 
fear  and  trembling,  closed  for  ever,  and  the  poor  forlorn 
voyageur  left  mournfully  to  his  fate  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

KETTINS. 

'*  Can  we  love  Nature  over-much  ?    In  youth, 
My  young  blood  dancing  wild  in  every  vein, 
And  music  in  my  footsteps  light,  I  loved  - 
Sweet  Nature,  with  a  warm  first  love,  and  hung 
With  all  the  ardour  of  a  lover  true, 
Upon  her  rich  vermillion  lips,  aglow. 
In  a  wild  transport  of  voluptuous  joy ; 
And  then  I'd  wander  'mong  the  leafy  groves, 
The  harping  forests  ringing  out  their  chimes 
To  fill  my  soul  with  melody  ;  while  all 
The  deep  emotions  of  my  yearning  heart, 
"Were  stirred  to  holy  rapture,  gushing  forth 
In  joyous  strains  of  never-ending  song." 

Howena. 

We  shall  now  leave  the  shadow  of  the  grand  old  Abbey  of 
Cupar,  and  proceed  to  the  quiet  sequestered  village  of  Kettins 
in  its  immediate  vicinity.     Part  of  this  parish  is  situated  in 
Forfarsliire,  and  part  in  Perthshire,  its  whole  extent  stretch- 
ing along  the  southern  part  of  the  valley  of  Strathmore,  at  the 
base  of  the  Sidlaw  hills.     The  situation  and  surroundings  of 
the  village  are  extremely  beautiful.     Standing  on  the  bridge, 
beneath  which  the  placid  streamlet  runs  gently  on  in  its  wind- 
ing course  to  the  Isla,  the  scene  presented  to  the  eye  on  a 
cloudless   summer  evening — the  pretty  little  cottages  with 
their  flower  and  kitchen  gardens ;  the  tree-embossomed  villa 
of  Newhall  on  our  left,  the  old-fashioned  church  and  manse 
on  our  right ;  the  finely  wooded  surroundings  of  Haliburton 
House  in  the  distance ;  with  the  sweet  begowaned  village  green 
between — could  scarcely  be  surpassed  for  rich  luxuriant  beauty 


KKTriNS.  441 

"With  only  one  word  of  alteration,  to  Kettins,  the  fine  line  of 
Goldsmith  might  be  aptly  applied — 

'*  Sweet  Auburn  !  loveliest  village  of  the  plain  !** 

Passing  some  flower-embowered  cottages  to  the  south,  we 
enter  the  beautiful  avenue  which  leads  to  Haliburton  House. 
The  seat  of  the  ancient  and  historic  family  of  Halyburton,  a 
family  intimately  associated  with  the  Scottish  Reformation,  is 
a  fine  old  structure,  embosomed  among  ancient  woods,  and 
is  in  every  way  worthy  of  its  present  much  respected  and  very 
popular  occupant.  In  some  respects,  it  may  be  matter  of 
regret,  that  at  the  death  of  its  present  owner,  Admiral,  Lord 
J.  F.  G.  Halyburton,  the  estate  passes  away  to  the  Marquis  of 
Huntly,  the  next  heir  of  entail 

The  great  grandfather  of  a  highly  esteemed  friend  of  the 
writer,  held  the  stirrup  to  "  Great  Pitcur,'*  when  mounting 
for  the  battle  of  Killiecrankie,  and  it  was  considered  a  bad  omen 
that  his  horse's  back  broke  when  about  half  a  mile  from  his 
own  door,  from  the  extreme  weight  of  his  armour.  This  omen 
was  sadly  verified  by  his  falling,  with  his  famous  leader,  in 
the  battle.  He,  and  his  friend  Claverhouse,  were  buried  in 
the  little  churchyard  of  Blair,  a  short  distance  from  the  spot 
where  they  fell.  The  old  church  of  Blair- Athole  is  now  in 
ruins,  but  their  burial  places  are  still  prominently  to  be  seen 
— instructive  memorials  of  that  terrible  conflict,  when — 

*'  Horse  and  man  went  down  like  driftwood, 

When  the  floods  are  black  at  Yule ; 
And  their  carcasses  are  whirling 

In  the  Gary's  deepest  pool. 

"  Horse  and  man  went  down  before  us, 

Living  foe  there  tarried  none. 
On  the  field  of  Killeorankie) 

When  the  stubborn  fight  was  done.'* 

Two  miles  to  the  south  of  the  village,  are  the  ruins  of  the 
Castle  of  Pictur,  which  gave  title  to  the  family.  Still  further 
to  the  south,  on  the  summit  of  the  hill,  stood  in  ancient  times 


i 


442  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

the  Castle  of  Dores,  one  of  the  many  fabulous  residences  of 
Macbeth. 

The  outlines  of  a  Boman  camp  can  still  be  traced  at  Camp- 
Muir.  A  very  ancient  upright  stone,  some  six  or  seven  feet 
in  height,  said  to  have  been  erected  by  the  Danes,  is  to  be 
seen  at  Baldowrie,  about  two  miles  to  the  south-east  of  the 
village.  The  sculptured  figures  on  this  monument  are  verj'' 
much  defaced,  so  that  nothing  with  certainty  can  be  learned 
of  its  history. 

In  the  churchyard,  beside  the  burying-place  of  the  Murrays 
of  Lintrose,  stands  another  upright  stone  about  the  same  size, 
and  similar  in  shape  to  those  at  Meigle  and  Glamis,  but  not 
in  such  a  good  state  of  preservation,  the  sculpture  being 
almost  entirely  obliterated.  The  carving  seems  to  have 
originally  been  of  a  very  elaborate  character.  With  the 
exception,  however,  of  the  figure  of  some  animal  on  the  right 
of  the  stone,  the  other  figures  are  not  recognisable  to  the 
extent  of  forming  any  just  opinion  of  the  original  symbolic 
signs  referring  to  its  history  and  purpose  of  erection.  The 
indifference  and  positive  sacrilege  of  the  burghers  of  Cupar, 
alluded  to  in  the  preceding  chapter,  seem  to  have  extended 
their  baneful  influence  to  the  quiet,  unobtrusive  villagei-s  of 
Kettins,  for,  until  very  lately,  this  sacred  relic  of  the  past 
lay  ingloriously  in  the  bed  of  the  placid  rivulet,  a  degraded 
stepping-stone  to  either  side  of  the  village  green,  and  irrever- 
ently trod  upon  by  every  clownish,  unhallowed  foot  in  the 
parish  ! 

Some  very  handsome  modem  monuments  adorn  the  quiet, 
secluded  burying-place  of  Kettins,  which  is  now  religiously 
kept  in  the  best  order,  standing  out  in  this  respect,  in  favour- 
able contrast  with  most  of  the  churchyards  in  our  country 
parishes,  where  nothing  is  apparently  so  lovingly  cultivated 
as  docks  and  nettles  and  other  noxious  weeds !  There  are 
besides,  some  finely  ornamented  ancient  stones,  the  mono- 
grams being  as  sharp  in  outline  as  when  chiselled  at  first  by 
the  sculptor.     Two  flat  stones  at  the  entrance  to  the  manse 


KETTINS.  443 

exhibit  some  fine  specimens  of  the  symbolic  signs  in  vogue  a 
century  ago — ^Death-heads,  sand-glasses,  cross  bones,  &c.,  the 
one  of  date  1770,  and  the  other  with  the  motto — Pulvis  d 
sumvs. 

In  my  late  cursory  ramble  through  this  favourite  "  resting- 
place,"  the  oldest  date  on  the  grave-stones  I  could  recognise, 
was  1722 ;  and  the  oldest  recorded  sleeper  below,  that  of 
Louis  Pedrana,  who  died  29th  April  1844,  at  the  great  age 
of  ninety-one  years.  There  must  doubtless,  however,  be 
older  memorials  than  those  of  the  last  century,  in  this  very 
ancient  churchyard,  did  the  crumbling  moss-covered  stones 
allow  of  their  being  minutely  decipher^. 

On  the  finely-wooded  estate  of  Lintrose,  formerly  called 
Todderance,  and  once  a  seat  of  a  lateral  branch  of  the  Haly- 
burton  family,  situate  about  a  mile  south-west  of  the  village, 
there  was  lately  discovered  a  cave  about  fifty  feet  long,  with 
built  sides,  paved  floor,  and  two  fireplaces.  Various  con- 
jectures were  hazarded  as  to  the  origin  and  uses  of  this 
singularly  primitive  dwelling-place ;  some  supposing  it  to 
have  been  a  winter  retreat  of  the  ancient  Caledonians ;  and 
others,  a  hiding-place  of  the  persecuted  Covenanters. 

Lintrose  is  interesting  in  another  respect,  inasmuch  as  it 
is  indirectly  connected  with  one  of  Bums*  finest  songs : — 

'*  Blithe,  blithe  and  merry  was  she,"  &c. 

The  heroine  of  this  song  was  Miss  Euphemia  Murray  of 
Lintrose,  distinguished  by  her  sprightliness  and  beauty,  as 
the  "Flower  of  Strathmore."  The  poet  met  her  in  June 
1787,  while  on  a  visit  to  the  seat  of  her  uncle.  Sir  William 
Murray  of  Ochtertyre.  Beauty  and  affability  combined  in 
woman,  had  always  a  great  charm  for  Burns,  and  this  lovely 
and  fascinating  creature  being  then  in  her  eighteenth  year, 
seems  to  have  captivated  him  exceedingly,  and  hence  this 
favourite  effusion  of  his  muse.  Miss  Murray  subsequently 
became  the  wife  of  Mr  Smythe  of  Methven,  one  of  the  judges 
of  the  Court  of  Session. 
In  connection   with  the  religious  order  of  the  Eed  or 


444  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Trinity  Friara,  Sir  James  Lindsay  of  Crawford,  according  to 
Jervise,  granted,  about  the  year  1390,  to  the  brethren  of  the 
Holy  Trinity,  his  house  or  tenement  in  Dundee  to  be  an 
hospital  or  Maiscmdieu  in  which  the  old  and  infirm  might 
reside.  In  confirming  this  charter  of  Lindsay's  foundation  of 
the  hospital,  according  to  the  same  authority,  King  Eobert 
enriched  it  with  a  gift  of  the  Church  of  Kettins  and  its 
revenues. 

Among  the  many  donors  to  the  hospital,  William  Duncan, 
proprietor  of  Templeton  of  Auchterhouse,  stands  unenviously 
conspicuous,  inasmuch  as  the  deed  conveying  a  donation  from 
these  lands,  is  attested  thus  : — "  Villiame  Duncane,  with  my 
hand  twitching  ye  pen,  led  by  ye  notar  becaus  I  can  nocht 
vryte  myself." 

In  the  rental  of  the  lands  belonging  to  the  Priory  of 
Kostinoth  in  the  '^  Miscellanea  Aldbarensia,"  occur  these 
characteristic  entries  in  reference  to  the  parish  of  Kettins, 
viz : — 

Item  de  terris  de  baronia  de  Kethenys,  iiij  lib. 
Item  de  molendino  de  de  Kethynnes  xis. 
Item  de  terris  de  baldowry  iiijs.  iiijd. 

In  the  reigu  of  James  VL,  by  a  charter  dated  15th 
November  1558,  subsequently  confirmed  by  another  charter 
dated  24th  May  1585,  the  Kirk  lands  of  Kettins,  now  called 
Newhall,  were  disponed,  according  to  Mr  Gibb,  by  Friar 
Gilbert  Brown,  minister  of  the  Holy  Cross  of  Peebles,  to 
James  Small  of  Kettins,  and  Elizabeth  Blair,  his  wife.  It 
would  thus  appear,  that  prior  to  the  Eeformation,  the  church 
and  kirk  lands  had  been  transferred  to  the  ministry  of 
Peebles.  Anciently  there  were  six  chapels  dependent  on  the 
Church  of  Kettins,  viz.,  one  at  Peatie,  another  at  South 
Corston,  a  third  at  Pitcur,  a  fourth  at  Muiryfaulds,  a  fifth 
at  Denhead,  and  a  sixth  on  the  south  side  of  the  village  of 
Kettins.     Not  a  vestige  of  these  chapels  now  remains. 

The  parish  contains  some  rare  plants,  amongst  which  may 
be  noticed  the  Geranium  Sanguineum  ;  Parnassia  palustris ; 


KETTINS.  445 

Trientalis  Earopsea;  Vinca  Minor;  Saxifraga  Granulata; 
Anemone  Memorosa  ;  H3rpericum  humifusum ;  TroUius 
Europseus;  Lobelia  Dortmanna;  Pilularia  globulifera;  and 
the  Gymnadenia  canopsea. 

Returning  at  eventide  from  our  pleasant  excursion  to  this 
lovely  and  delicious  neighbourhood,  what  sweet  rural  sounds 
salute  our  delighted  ears : — The  lowing  of  oxen  on  the  plain, 
the  bleating  of  sheep  on  the  hills  ;  the  drowsy  hum  of  the 
honey  bees,  the  even-song  of  the  happy  birds ;  the  cheerful 
lilt  of  the  sturdy  peasant  returning  from  his  labour  in  the 
fields,  the  distant  bark  of  welcome  home  from  his  faithful 
watch-dog  at  the  cottage  gate ;  the  plaintive  sighing  of  the 
balmy  winds  among  the  rustling  branches  of  the  ancient 
trees,  blent  softly  with  the  lapping  silver  sound  of  the  gently 
flowing  burn ;  and — 

Hark  !  'tis  the  cheerful  thnlling  song 
Of  happy  children,  who  prolong 
With  merry,  loud,  untiring  glee, 
The  forest  birds'  loved  melody. 
In  yonder  sylvan  solitude, 
Afar  in  depths  of  summer  wood. 
With  glist'ring  dew-drops  on  their  feet. 
They  wild  flowers  gather  fresh  and  sweet ; 
'      Or.  decked  with  garlands  bright  and  fair. 
Wreathed  gay  around  their  sunny  hair. 
Their  hearts  from  care  and  sorrow  free, 
They  dance  around  the  greenwood  tree. 
How  sweet  these  artless  wood-notes  wild, 
How  blooming  fair  each  happy  child  ! 
No  woodland  sounds  I  love  so  well. 
None  make  my  heart  so  rapturous  swell. 
As  children's  voices  ringing  sweet. 
The  hymning  choir  of  heaven  to  greet, 
Or  silvery  strains  in  summer  wood, 
'Midst  Nature's  wildest  solitude, 
Wide  ringing  o'er  the  list'ning  plains. 
In  God-adoring,  blessed  strains ! 


CHAPTEE  XXXYII. 

CARGILL. 

Coy  with  our  sunny  ringlets  fair, 

Do  arch  the  zephyrs  play, 
While  murmurs  fondly  at  our  feet 

The  wavelets  of  the  Tay. 

Proceeding  on  this  bright  morning  a  few  miles  to  the  west  of 
Kettins,  we  reach  the  beautifully  situated  parish  of  Cargill. 
The  scenery  now  becomes  much  bolder  in  outline,  and  alto- 
gether more  richly  diversified  by  wood  and  water,  gentle  emi- 
nence and  luxuriant  hollow,  than  that  around  the  district  we 
have  left.    The  church  and  manse  occupy  a  charmingly  roman- 
tic site  on  the  sylvan  banks  of  the  noble  Tay,  forming,  with 
the  adjoining  well-kept  burial-ground,  one  of  the  most  delight- 
ful scenes  on  which  the  eye  could  rest.     The  original  church, 
gifted  to  the  Abbey  of  Cupar,  would  seem  to  have  been  in 
another  part  of  the  parish,  the  Priests*  Den  and  the  Priests' 
Well  being  a  considerable  distance  from  the  present  structure. 
On    the  top  of  a  perpendicular  rock  which  rises  abruptly 
over  the  Linn  at  Campsie,  are  traceable  the  remains  of  an 
ancient  religious  house  and  burial-place,  and  being  near  the  site 
of  a  Eoman  Camp,  it  is  probable,  according  to  Jervise,  as  the 
Gaelic  words  Caer-KUl  mean  either  the  kirk,  or  burial-place 
of  the  fort  or  camp,  that  the  peculiar  situation  of  this  church 
or  chapel  had  given  the  name  of  Cargill  to  the  district. 

The  Muschets  of  Cargill  were  of  Roman  origin,  and  seem 
to  have  come  to  Scotland  with  William  the  Lion,  the  first 
appearance  of  them  being  in  the  year  1200,  when  Richard  of 
Munficheth,  witnesses  a  grant  by  that  king  to  the  Monks  of 
Arbroath,  of  a  toft  in  the  burgh  of  Perth.      {Beg.  Fet.   de 


CARGILL.  447 

Aherh,  13).  Twenty  years  later,  William,  the  son  of  Richard, 
gave  the  Abbey  of  Cupar  a  grant  of  the  common  pasture  of 
his  lordship  of  Cargill,  which  his  father  had  received  from 
King  William.  This  baron,  who  appears  to  have  been  after- 
wards knighted,  witnesses  various  charters  during  the  time  of 
Alexander  II.  (Jervise),  The  male  line  of  the  family  failed  in 
the  person  of  William,  warder  of  the  town  and  castle  of  Dun- 
dee for  the  English,  during  the  early  part  of  the  Wars  of 
Independence,  who,  in  1331,  is  a  witness  to  a  local  charter  ; 
and  the  following  year  became  Justiciary  of  Scotland. 
(Spalding  Club  Miscell,,  v.  10).  Like  his  progenitor  in 
England,  he  left  three  co-heiresses,  one  of  whom,  Mary, 
carried  the  lands  of  Cargill  and  Stobhall,  by  marriage,  to  Sir 
John  Drummond,  ancestor  of  the  Earls  of  Perth ;  while  the 
lands  of  Pitfour  and  Drumgrain,  which  belonged  to  the  other 
sisters,  Margaret  and  Dornagilla  of  Montefix,  and  also  some 
estates  in  Dumbartonshire,  were  lost  by  forfeiture  in  the 
time  of  David  II.  {Crawford's  Peerage). 

The  noble  family  of  Drummond,  one  of  the  most  ancient 
and  illustrious  of  the  Scottish  nation,  still  possesses  the 
Muschet  estates  in  this  district.  Annabella  Drummond,  the 
beautiful  and  accomplished  daughter  of  Sir  John  Drummond 
and  Lady  Mary  Muschet  or  Montefix,  had  the  high  honour  of 
being  married  to  Eobert  III.  King  of  Scotland,  and  crowned 
with  him  at  Scone  in  the  month  of  September  1390.  Queen 
Annabella  was  mother  to  James  I.,  King  of  Scotland,  and 
from  her  are  lineally  descended  all  the  royal  race  of  the 
Stuarts. 

Very  beautiful  and  romantic  are  the  views  along  the  Tay 
in  this  charmingly  situated  parish.  The  village  of  Cargill 
stands  near  the  river  about  half-a-mile  from  its  junction  with 
the  Isla.  At  this  spot,  and  exactly  opposite  to  the  ancient 
Castle  of  Kinclaven  on  the  other  side  of  the  river  are  the 
vestiges  of  a  Roman  encampment,  now  called  the  CastlehilL 
The  encampment  was  defended  on  one  side  by  the  steep 
banks  of  the  Tay,  on  another  by  a  deep  ravine;  while  on  all 


448  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

other  sides  where  it  was  assailable,  it  was  guarded  hj  high 
breastworks  and  strong  entrenchments.  The  fossae  are  yet 
distinct,  and  the  aqueduct  by  which  they  were  filled  from  a 
neighbouring  rivulet,  is  still  in  a  good  state  of  preservation. 
The  site  of  the  encampment,  however,  is  now  converted  into 
a  corn-field.  In  this  camp,  according  to  Boethius,  the  Romans 
took  up  their  winter  quarters  under  Tribellius,  after  Agricola 
left  him,  and  preserved  their  communication  with  other 
detachments  of  their  troops  who  had  advanced  farther  into 
the  country,  towards  the  foot  of  the  Grampians. 

Another  interesting  object  in  this  parish  is  Stobhall,  a 
venerable  fabric,  formerly  a  seat  of  the  Perth  family,  now 
belonging  to  the  representatives  of  Lord  Willoughby  d*Eresby. 
It  is  fancifully  situated  on  a  narrow  peninsula  on  the  banks 
of  the  Tay,  and  being  of  various  kinds  of  architecture,  must 
have  been  built  at  different  times  and  on  difi'erent  plans. 

The  river,  near  the  west  end  of  the  parish,  forms  what  is 
called  the  Linn  of  Campsie,  already  noticed,  by  falling  over 
a  rugged  basaltic  dyke,  which  crosses  the  bed  of  the  river 
at  this  place,  and  extends  in  a  direct  line  many  miles  to 
the  east  and  west  of  the  Tay.  At  the  distance  of  twenty 
miles  to  the  westward,  Drummond  Castle  stands  on  a 
similar  rock,  which  is  supposed  to  be  a  continuation  of  the 
same  range. 

A  Roman  road  about  twenty  feet  broad,  composed  of  rough 
round  stones,  rudely  laid  together,  passes  along  the  high 
grounds.  This  military  road  is  supposed  to  have  been  made 
by  the  army  at  Ardoch,  to  preserve  a  communication  between 
their  different  camps,  and  as  convenient  for  their  after  marches, 
had  they  conquered  the  country. 

The  village  of  Gallowhill  in  a  field  called  the  Gallowshade, 
is  so  named  as  having  been  a  place  of  execution  under  the 
feudal  system ;  and  near  the  parish-school-house,  to  the  north, 
is  a  well  said  to  have  been  used  by  the  executioner  for  wash- 
ing his  hands  after  being  engaged  in  his  bloody  work.  In  this 
well;  now  partly  filled  up,  some  seventy  or  eighty  years  ago  a 


CARGILL.  449 

quantity  of  human  bones  were  discovered.  The  well  still 
goes  by  the  name  of  "  Hangies  Well" 

Near  the  village  were,  until  lately,  to  be  seen  a  number  of 
large  erect  stones,  said  to  have  been  of  the  same  class  of 
antiquities  as  the  sculptured  stones  of  Meigle.  Upon  these 
stones  were  representations  of  the  moon,  and  stars,  and  the 
corn-field  where  they  stood,  is  called  the  Moonshade,  or  Moon- 
stane  Butts  to  this  day. 

The  parish  is  diversified  by  several  artificial  little  hills  or 
conically  shaped  mounds,  called  Laws.  One  of  these  at  Law- 
ton,  being  in  the  near  neighbourhood  of  Macbeth's  Castle  on 
Dunsinane  Hill,  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  place  where 
Macbeth  dispensed  laws  and  settled  differences  among  his 
subjects. 


2  F 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

BENDOCHT. 
"Woodman,  spare  tiiat  tree." 

Two  miles  from  Coupar  Angus,  and  towards  the  eastern 
boundary  of  Perthshire,  we  come  to  the  borders  of  Bendocby, 
a  parish  which  consists  of  two  great  divisions,  the  Highland 
and  the  Lowland.  The  Highland  division  nearest  to  the 
parish  church  is  about  eight  miles  distant,  while  its  remotest 
point  is  upwards  of  thirteen  miles  off.  In  the  parochial 
registers  of  the  parish  the  name  is  written  Bendochie,  in  1642 ; 
Bennathie  in  1704 ;  and  Bendochy  in  1760.  From  the  great 
uncertainty  of  Gaelic  Etymology,  it  has  been  found  very 
difficult  to  ascertain  the  true  import  of  the  name ;  some 
defining  its  meaning  to  be  Nether  Hill ;  others.  The  hill  of 
good  prosped  ;  or,  The  hill  of  two  waiers. 

Leaving  these  etymological  differences  to  be  reconciled  by 
the  learned  in  such  matters,  let  us  pause  for  a  moment  on  the 
middle  of  the  bridge  over  the  Isla  at  Couttie,  and  watch  the 
placid  river's  zigzag,  meandering  course  among  the  hollows  to 
the  ea£rt  until  our  eye  rests  with  a  sweet  pleasure  on  the 
prettily  situated  manse  of  Bendochy  on  its  gently  rising  banks 
to  the  north.  How  silent  and  lone  !  How  shut  out  &om  the 
busy  world  does  it  seem  !  Yet  for  nearly  half-a-century  in 
that  modest  solitary  manse  has  lived  one  of  the  most  eloquent 
and  accomplished  ministers  of  the  Church  of  Scotland.  Yes, 
and  in  that  little  white-washed  bam-like  kirk  has  he  been 
content  to  minister  to  a  rural  congregation,  when  he  would 
have    been  admiringly  welcomed  as  their    pastor   by  the 


BENDOCHY.  451 

wealthiest  and  most  intellectual  communions,  worshipping  in 
the  noblest  temples  in  the  country. 

Dr  J.  S.  Barty,  the  present  incumbent  of  Bendochy,  was 
ordained  assistant  and  successor  to  his  father,  Mr  Thomas 
Barty,  in  1829.  He  was  elected  Moderator  of  the  General 
Assembly  in  1868 ;  and  in  the  same  year  was  entertained  at  a 
public  dinner  at  Dundee  in  recognition  of  his  great  abilities 
as  a  minister  of  the  Gospel,  and  for  general  services  to  his 
church  and  country.  During  the  agitation  for  the  abolition 
of  the  Com  Laws,  he  distinguished  himself  under  the  nonirde- 
plume  of  "  Peter  Plough,"  as  an  uncompromising  opponent  of 
the  Abolitionists.  He  also  contributed  some  able  papers  to 
Blackwood's  Magazine,  under  the  signature  of  ^'Cato  the 
Censor.*' 

Dr  Barty,  amongst  his  other  accomplishments,  includes 
that  of  a  discriminating  and  enthusiastic  botanist.  In  his 
elaborate  description  of  the  parish  in  the  **  Statistical  Account 
of  Scotland,"  he  lovingly  enumerates  almost  every  plant 
found  in  it  of  interest  to  the  botanical  collector.  The 
catalogue  is  so  complete  even  at  this  date,  that  with  the 
exception  of  a  few  plants  in  the  adjoining  parish  of  Coupar 
Angus,  the  student  wiU  find  it  contains  the  botany  of  a 
section  of  country  extending  from  the  base  of  the  Sidlaws, 
across  the  valley  of  Strathmore,  and  over  the  Grampian 
range.  To  the  east  the  practised  eye  of  Don  has  left  little 
to  be  discovered,  but  his  researches  do  not  seem,  in  the 
doctor's  opinion,  to  have  extended  so  far  westward. 

In  this  exhaustive  enumeration  of  the  Flora  of  the  district, 
are  included  the  Hieracium  sylvaiicum,  a  rare  plant  in  Strath- 
more; the  Omithopus  pfrpusUlus;  the  Lythrum  Salicaria;  the 
Scirpus  sylvaiicus ;  the  Chelidonium  majus,  &c. 

In  the  highland  part  of  the  parish,  the  vegetation  being  of 
a  sub-alpine  type,  are  found,  amongst  other  rare  plants,  the 
AlchemiUa  alpiruij  Viola  lutea,  Meum  aihamaniicum,  Sesleria 
coertdea,  Polygonum  viviparum,  the  Primula  eluiior  ;  the  Lisiera 
ovaia  ;  the  Pyrola  rotundifolia  ;  the  Boirychium  lunaria. 


452  8TRATHM0BS :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

The  earliest  date  of  the  baptism  register,  Dr  Baity  states, 
is  23d  January  1642.  The  proceedings  of  session  commence 
with  11th  September  1692.  The  marriage  register  begins  in 
17C0.  The  minutes  of  session  in  the  end  of  the  seventeenth, 
and  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  centuries,  give  some  curious 
revelations  of  the  history  of  the  period.  Eegarding  one 
offender,  the  doctor  quotes — ''the  session  thouyat  fitt  to 
bring  him  in  sackcloth,  and  cause  him  acknowledge  his  guilt 
on  his  knees.'*  And  regarding  another,  she  appears  for  the 
twentieth  time  before  the  congregation  on  the  stool  of 
repentance  !  Again,  T.  B.,  '*  being  examined  anent  what  was 
alleged  anent  his  stricking  Thomas  Craigie,  a  boy,  on  the 
Sabbath  day,  answered  that  the  said  Thomas  threw  in  a 
stone  among  the  children,  and  that  he  went  out  and  only 
shot  him  over,  he  being  removed,  the  members  after  discours- 
ing of  it,  thought  fit  to  dismiss  him  with  the  session  rebook." 

Again,  the  laird  of having  been  cited,  appeared,  and 

being  asked  whether  he  did  ''scandalously  go  out  on  the 
fast  day  with  his  gun,"  answered,  "  that  he  went  out  only  to 
fleg  the  tod  from  his  sheep."  He  was  dismissed  with  the 
session's  rebuke.  The  following  entry  also  occurs,  viz., — 
"  Received  from  G.  B.  2  lib.  9  sh  with  other  2  lib.  paid  by 
him  before  to  the  session,  is  accepted  as  satisfaction  for  his 
daughter's  resiling  from  purpose  of  marriage  with  one  A.  B., 
after  the  publication  of  the  banns."  An  assault  in  1721,  of 
a  very  extraordinary  character,  having  been  committed  on 
the  person  of  a  servant  by  his  master,  the  case  was  taken  up 
by  the  civil  magistrate.  The  master,  however,  was  cited 
before  the  session.  He  appeared  and  gave  in  a  paper  which 
he  called  a  "  declinator,''  having  in  company  with  him  Mr 
Charles  Hay,  writer  in  Cupar.  The  declining  their  jurisdic- 
tion seems  greatly  to  have  provoked  the  session,  and  "  having 
considered  the  whole  matter,  the  insolent  carriage  of  the  said 
W.  R.,  in  presuming  to  decline  this  judicatory,  his  bringing 
in  a  public  notar  on  the  Lord's  day,"  &c.,  "  they  did,  and 
hereby  do  refer  the  samen  to  the  reverend  presbytery  of 


BENDOCHT.  453 

Miggle  to  determine  therein,  in  sach  a  way  as  may  either 
make  the  said  W.  B.  obsequious  to  discipline,  or  bring  him 
under  ecclesiastical  censure,''  &c.  It  is  not  recorded,  quietly 
adds  the  doctor,  whether  the  presb3rtery  rendered  the  said 
W.  R.  "  obsequious." 

The  Isla  takes  its  rise  in  the  Grampians  and  runs  south- 
east with  a  rapid  current,  until  it  is  joined  by  the  sluggish 
Dean,  and  the  ''ireful  £richt,''  this  latter  river  being  com- 
posed of  the  united  streams  of  the  Blackwater  and  Ardle. 
Thus  increased  in  its  volume  of  water,  the  'Isla  meanders  past 
the  church  and  manse  of  Bendochy,  after  which  its  direction 
is  south-west  to  the  Tay,  into  which  it  falls  at  Kinclaven. 

Nearly  the  whole  of  the  parish  having  been  at  one  time 
Abbey  lands  belonging  to  the  abbacy  at  Coupar-Angus,  there 
are,  as  may  be  supposed,  several  interesting  antiquarian 
objects  in  the  district.  The  names  of  Monk  Mire,  Monk 
Cidlie,  the  Abbey  Mill  of  Blacklaw,  indicate  to  the  present 
day,  the  connection  which  subsisted  betwixt  this  parish  and 
the  religious  houses  at  Coupar-Angus.  In  ancient  times 
there  was  a  chapel  at  St  Phink,  of  which  a  small  part  of  the 
foundation  still  remains.  Near  this  place,  as  also  at  Pictfield, 
there  were  several  cairns,  below  and  around  which  human 
bones  partially  burned,  bronzed  battle-axes,  and  spear-heads 
have  been  found.  At  Monk  Callie,  there  was  also  a  chapel, 
and  the  burying-ground  attached  is  still  used  as  such. 

The  walls  of  the  "  parish  church,"  Dr.  Barty  relates,  "  are 
very  old.  The  pulpit  is  curious,  being  carved  of  oak, 
resembling  John  Knox's  pulpit  at  St  Andrews,  and  evidently 
of  the  same  era.  There  is  a  monumental  stone  in  the  back 
wall  of  the  church  to  the  memory  of  Nicol  Campbell  of 
Keithock,  (son  of  Donald,  Abbot  of  Coupar,  and  grandson  of 
the  Earl  of  Argyle,)  who  died  1587,  aged  seventy.  Another 
in  the  west  passage,  (the  inscription  on  which  will  soon  be 
obliterated)  to  David  Campbell  of  Denhead,  the  brother  of 
Nicol  Campbell  There  are  two  other  stones  on  the  wall  of 
the  church,  one  to  the  memory  of  Leonard  Leslie,  entitled 


454  STRATHMOR£  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Dominus  de  Cupro,  Commendator  of  Coupar,  who  died  1605, 
aged  eighty-one ;  and  another  representing  a  John  Cummin 
of  Couttie  in  this  parish,  dressed  in  a  coat  of  mail,  and  stand- 
ing on  a  dog;  the  date  1606." 

We  might  now  saunter  "  at  our  own  sweet  will,"  over  level 
haughs  and  up  gently  sloping  ridges  in  the  lowland  part  of 
the  parish,  towtuxls  the  confluence  of  the  Ericht  and  Isla, 
until  we  reach  the  frontier  of  the  Grampians ;  and  then 
sniffing  the  mountain  air  of  the  Highlands,  continue  oar 
delightful  rambles  to  the  hill  of  Persie  where  the  wild  roe 
breeds  and  abounds,  and  to  which  occasionally  the  red  deer 
wanders  from  the  herds  of  Caenlochan.  We  might  also  ply 
the  **  gentle  art "  in  the  angle  of  the  confluence  between  the 
Ardle  and  Blackwater;  or  have  a  shot  at  the  grouse  or 
blackcock  as  they  rise  among  the  heather  hills.  But  we  shall, 
for  the  present,  bid  adieu  to  the  pleasant  scene ;  and  while 
our  eye  again  lovingly  rests  on  the  quiet,  sequestered  manse, 
"  snugly  embosomed  in  its  own  little  grove  of  wood,"  let  us 
listen  to  the  warning  voice  of  its  incumbent  which  issues 
from  its  hallowed  precincts  — *'  Oh  1  ye,  my  successors,  lift 
not  up  the  axe  against  the  trees.  Touch  not  the  old  ash, 
that  has  stood  for  a  century  the  sentinel  of  the  manse, 
guarding  it  from  the  eastern  blasts,  and  protecting  froih  the 
storm  the  graceful  birches  that  weep  and  wave  their  graceful 
branches  below." 

Since  these  pages  were  written,  alas!  this  amiable  and 
learned  divine  has  passed  away  to  his  heavenly  rest,  leaving 
an  odour  behind  him  of  rich  and  pleasant  memories,  none  the 
least  of  which  is  the  deeply  cherished  recollection  of  the 
writer's  visit  to  the  manse  and  braes  of  Bendochy  only  a  few 
short  months  before  his  departure  hence.  Although  feebler 
in  body,  he  seemed  stronger  in  spirit,  his  conversation  being 
characterised  by  all  the  ardour  and  exuberance  of  youth.  But 
his  work  was  done,  and  premonitions  were  not  awanting  that 
the  summons  was  already  on  the  wing,  and  the  chariot  ready ! 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

« 

BLAIRGOWRIE. 

TwBB  my  delight  to  roam  afar 

In  wild  seqaestered  glens  ;  by  pine  clad  hills  ; 

VTherOi  on  bold  rocky  eminences  high, 

The  weird  old  castles,  hoary  grey  with  age, 

Grand  in  their  fading  glory,  moulder  lone  ; 

Their  donjon  keeps,  rude  battlemented  towers, 

With  climbing  ivy  richly  mantled  green, 

Still  faithful  clinging  to  the  crumbling  pile 

Of  feudal  rude  magnificence ;  the  winds. 

In  eerie  cadence,  though  the  crevioee 

Loud  wailing  like  the  shrieks  of  drowning  men, 

Or  damn^  spirits  in  their  agony  1 

Itowena. 

The  parish  of  Blairgowrie,  which  we  have  now  reached, 
adjoins  that  of  Bendochy,  and  lies  on  the  north  side  of  the 
valley  of  Strathmore,  stretching  along  the  gently  rising  heights 
till  it  terminates  on  the  lofty  summits  of  the  Grampian  moun- 
tains. The  barony  once  formed  a  part  of  the  extensive 
possessions  of  the  family  of  Growrie,  and  the  name  is,  doubtless 
derived  from  the  Gaelic  word  Blaar, — a  place  where  moor  and 
moss  abound^  with  the  addition  of  Gowrie,  as  the  ancient  name 
of  the  district. 

The  parish  is  unusually  rich  in  lochs,  rivers,  bridges,  and 
old  castles.  Of  the  first  there  are  no  less  than  six,  viz.  the 
Stormont  Loch,  Black  Loch,  White  Loch,  Fingask  Loch,  the 
Monkmyre  Loch,  and  Ardblair  or  the  Rae  LocL  The  rivers 
connected  with  the  parish  are  the  Ardle,  and  Blackwater,  the 
Lunan,  and  the  Lomty,  all  these  united  forming  the  Ericht, 
which  flows  along  the  north-east  boundary  of  the  parish,  and 


456  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

falls  into  the  Isla,  as  already  noticed,  at  Cupar  Grange.  There 
are  five  bridges  in  the  parish,  viz.  the  Bridge  of  Blaii^owrie, 
across  the  Ericht ;  the  Bridge  of  Craighall,  where  it  recrosses 
the  river ;  the  Bridge  of  Gaily,  where  it  crosses  the  Ardle  ;  the 
Bridge  of  Carsie,  by  which  it  crosses  the  water  of  Lunan,  and 
the  Bridge  of  Lomty,  where  the  old  military  road  crossed  the 
the  Lomty.  Of  castles,  we  have  Graighall,  Lady  Lindsay's 
Castle,  of  which  more  anon ;  Newton  Castle,  situated  close  to 
the  town,  commanding  one  of  the  finest  prospects  of  the  great 
valley  of  Strathmore ;  Drumlochy  Castle,  on  the  north  side  of 
the  Lomty  Bum,  the  ruins  of  a  once  noble  fortress ;  and  at  a 
short  distance  to  the  west  of  Dmmlochy  Castle  on  the  opposite 
side  of  a  deep  ravine,  the  imposing  ruins  of  the  ancient  Castle 
of  Glasclune,  which  played  no  inconsiderable  part  in  the 
bloody  feuds  between  the  Herons  of  Dmmlochy  and  the  Blairs 
of  Glasclune. 

The  scenery  around  Craighall  is  of  the  most  romantic  and 
magnificent  description,  and  although  confined  to  a  compara- 
tively small  compass  can  nevertheless  scarcely  be  excelled  not 
only  as  an  enchanting  but  perfect  embodiment  of  all  that  con- 
stitutes the  essential  elements  of  grandeur  and  beauty.  Wood, 
water,  chasm,  rock  are  finely  intermingled  in  all  the  light  and 
shade  so  dear  to  the  lover  of  Nature  in  her  grandest  displays 
of  panoramic  sublimity.  There,  through  a  deep  ravine  of 
savage  rocks,  their  steep  acclivities  interspersed  with  the 
beautiful  foliage  of  the  hazel  and  oak,  dark  and  sullen  flows 
the  gloomy  river ;  up  yonder  on  the  higher  verge  of  the  cliff 
like  the  eyrie  of  the  eagle,  stands,  or  rather  hangs,  in  its  lone 
majesty  the  picturesque,  and  now  classic  Craighall,  the  proto- 
type of  the  Tully-Veolan  of  Waverley.  All  around  the  scene 
is  most  enchantingly  beautiful,  and  while  encompassed  with 
the  mystical  halo  of  the  past,  is  pregnant  with  the  tragic  events 
of  the  present ;  for  while  our  thoughts  revert  at  first  to  the 
Baron  of  Bradwardine,  they  converge  in  the  end  on  that  fatal 
catastrophe  by  which,  a  few  years  ago,  a  young  and  blooming 
maiden  met  a  horrible  and  untimely  death  by  falling  from  that 


BLAIRGOWRIE.  457 

precipitous  cliff  to  the  rocky  bed  of  the  yawning  chasm,  full 
three  hundred  feet  below  ! 

"  Another  resting-place,"  says  Lockhart,  in  his  Life  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  in  allusion  to  the  great  enchanter's  visit  to  this 
part  of  the  country — "  was  Craighall,  in  Perthshire,  the  seat 
of  the  Eattrays,  a  family  related  to  Mr.  Clerk,  who  accom- 
panied him.  From  the  position  of  this  striking  place,  as  Mr. 
Clerk  at  once  perceived,  and  as  the  author  afterwards  confessed 
to  him,  that  of  TuUy-Veolan  was  very  faithfully  copied,  though, 
in  the  description  of  the  house  itself  and  its  gardens,  many 
features  were  adopted  from  Bruntsfield  and  Ravelstone." 

It  is  rather  singular,  however,  and  scarcely  in  accordance 
with  this  confession,  that  Sir  Walter  makes  no  allusion  what- 
ever to  Craighall  in  his  notes  on  Waverley.  "  There  is  no 
particular  mansion  described,"  he  says,  "  under  the  name  of 
TuUy-Veolan ;  but  the  peculiarities  of  the  description  occur 
in  various  old  Scottish  seats.  The  house  of  Warrender,  upon 
Bruntsfield  Links,  and  that  of  old  Ravelstone,  belonging,  the 
former  to  Sir  Greorge  Warrender,  the  latter  to  Sir  Alexander 
Keith,  have  both  contributed  several  hints  to  the  description 
in  the  text.  The  House  of  Dean,  near  Edinburgh,  has  also 
some  points  of  resemblance  with  TuUy-Veolan.  The  author, 
has,  however,  been  informed,  that  the  House  of  GrandtuUy 
resembles  that  of  the  Baron  of  Bradwardine,  still  more  than 
any  of  the  above.*'  As  to  the  garden, — which  presented  "  a 
pleasant  scene" — Sir  Walter  adds — "At  Ravelstone  may  be 
seen  such  a  garden,  which  the  taste  of  the  proprietor,  the 
author's  friend  and  kinsman,  Sir  Alexander  Keith,  Knight 
Mareschal,  has  judiciously  preserved.  That,  as  well  as  the 
house,  is,  however,  of  smaller  dimensions  than  the  Baron  of 
Bradwardine's  mansion  and  garden  are  presumed  to  have  been." 
The  explanation  seems  simply  to  be,  that,  with  a  few  notable 
exceptions,  the  great  Necromancer,  either  in  his  descriptions  of 
men  or  places,  did  not  slavishly  copy  any  particular  person  or 
place,  but  filled  in  the  details  of  his  pictures  from  every  fitting 
available  source  that  came  under  his  practised,  ever  watch- 


458  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

ful  eye.  And  hence,  his  baronial  castles  with  their  inmates, 
his  lowland  Scottish  homes  with  their  sturdy  yeomen  or  peasant 
proprietory  are  rather  the  types  of  the  prevailing  styles  of 
architecture,  and  general  features  of  society  in  a  given  age, 
than  photographs  of  particular  structures,  or  porfo^ts  of 
individual  characters. 

On  the  west  side  of  the  river,  and  rising  perpendicularly  to 
the  height  of  300  feet,  is  the  famous  precipice  of  Craig  IaoA 
or  "  The  Eagle's  Craig."   At  the  base  of  this  rock  there  is  a  low, 
dark,  gloomy  cave,  and  the  scenery  around  is  romantic  and 
grand.     Casting  our  eye  upwards  to  the  extreme  verge  of  the 
precipice,  we  can  discern  the  crumbling  ruins  of  a  circokr 
tower,  still  popularly  known  as  Lady  Lindsay's  castle.    The 
scene  would  not  be  complete  without  some  legend  or  tradition- 
ary story  to  invest  with  human  interest  these  grey  old  walls 
and  their  savage  yet  romantic  surroundings.     Lord  Lindsay, 
in  the  time  of  James  III.,  occupied  as  his  residence  the  GasUe 
of  Inverqueich,  near  the  kirk  of  Ruthven.     He  was  a  lawless, 
unprincipled  desperado,  at  one  time  renewing  the  femiily  feuds 
with  the  house  of  Glamis,  and  at  another  fighting  agaiost  his 
tather  in  his  struggle  for  the  king.     He  was  wounded  in  a 
duel,  or  single  combat,  by  his  younger  brother,  John.    Be- 
moved  to  the  Castle  of  Inverqueich,  he  is  said  by  some  to 
have  died  there  of  his  wounds.     Others  assert  that  he  was 
smothered  in  his  bed  with  the  knowledge  and  connivance  of 
his  wife.     The  evidence  in  support  of  the  latter  view  of  the 
case  is  certainly  very  strong,  if  not  conclusive.     In  the  MS. 
genealogy  of  the  family,  avie  1580,  Eaigh  MuiwmenL-romy  it 
is  said  that  popular  rumour  accused  her  of  having  smothered 
her  first  husband.  Lord  Lindsay,  with  a  down  pillow  in  the 
Castle  of  Inverqueich : — "  He  was  smorit  be  his  wife."    It  is 
also  recorded  in  the  "  Genealogy  of  1623,"  ibid,  as  likewise  in 
Sir  James  Balfour's  "  Genealogy,"  in  the  Advocates'  Library, 
that  ''  he  was  smored  in  his  b^d  at  Inverqueich,  and,  as  was 
thought,  not  without  knowledge  of  his  wife." 

This  took  place  on  the  16th  September  1489,  and  the 


BLAIRGOWRIE.  459 

countess  was  Janet  Gordon  of  the  Huntly  family,  grand- 
daughter to  James  I.  She  must  have  been  a  very  different 
character  from  her  sister,  Catherine  Gordon,  celebrated  for  her 
beauty  as  "  The  White  Rose  of  Scotland."  This  lady  was 
given  in  marriage  by  her  cousin-german,  James  IV.,  to  Perken 
Warbeck,  then  believed  to  be  the  real  Duke  of  York,  and 
whom  she  never  deserted  in  all  his  subsequent  misery.  Their 
mother  was  the  Princess  Annabella,  daughter  of  James  I. 

Tradition  saith,  that  although  Lady  Lindsay  had  other  two 
husbands,  and  survived  both,  her  spirit,  when  she  died, 
haunted  for  ages  the  castle  and  surroundings  of  Inverqueich, 
and  points  out  that  high  table  rock  in  this  romantic  glen  of 
Graighall,  as  the  scene  of  the  penance  imposed  for  murdering 
her  husband,  which  was,  that  she  should  sit  upon  it  and  spin 
night  and  day  till  the  thread  should  reach  the  river  beneath. 

Assuming  this  task  not  to  be  impossible  of  execution  within 
a  given  time,  a  much  severer  penance  has  been  imposed,  or 
rather  added,  by  subsequent  traditions,  id  est,  that  Lady 
Lindsay  shall  live  out  her  punishment  on  this  Craig  Liach,  or 
the  Eagle's  Rock,  at  Graighall,  being  doomed  to  spin  a  long 
unbroken  thread, — sufficiently  long  to  reach  from  the  remotest 
part  of  her  rocky  habitation  up  to  the  heavens,  by  which, 
when  accomplished,  she  is  to  be  permitted  to  mount  to  the 
spheres,  and  enjoy  for  ever  the  society  of  her  injured  lord  ! 

Do  you  not  pity  the  fair  yet  pining  prisoner  in  that  lonely 
tower,  as  in  imagination  you  picture  her  dreary  monotonous 
misery,  or  listen  to  her  faintly-heard  plaintive  supplica- 
tions for  mercy.  But  I  forbear — the  sullen  river  weeps  not, 
the  sultry  breezes  sigh  not;  no  sympathetic  response  comes 
from  the  leaden  air  above,  no  answering  echo  issues  from  the 
gloomy  depths  below — all  is  silence — darkness — gloom;  the 
voiceless  birds  hide  themselves  in  fear  among  the  branches, 
the  very  denizens  of  the  woods  are  startled  by  the  ominous 
sound  of  their  own  footsteps  ! 

Newton  Castle,  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  town,  as 
'Already  noticed,  and  occupying  an  elevated  site,  is  a  very 


460  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDa 

pictaresque  object  of  itself  and  is  visible  from  a  great  distance. 
The  whole  stnicture  is  very  imposing,  being  considered  a 
good  specimen  of  the  castellated  stylo  of  baronial  residences 
which  prevailed  in  the  seventeenth  century.  The  only 
legend  connected  with  this  ancient  mansion  is  in  the  shape 
of  a  ghostly  apparition — the  "Green  Lady," — so  named 
because  of  her  dress  being  that  of  green  silk.  This  mysteri- 
ous personage,  it  is  averred,  haunted  in  days  of  old,  the 
grounds  around,  and  the  apartments  within  the  Castle,  but 
as  no  authentic  records  of  her  movements  have  been  preserved, 
it  is  left  to  the  individual  fancy  of  her  admirers  to  fill  up  and 
finish  the  sketchings  of  her  exploits,  which  otherwise  might 
evaporate  in  the  undefined  mists  of  a  superstitious  antiquity. 

The  parish  church  occupies  a  commanding  situation  on  the 
summit  of  the  Hill  of  Blair.  Behind  the  church  there  is  a 
finely  wooded  ravine,  descending  almost  perpendicularly  to 
the  bed  of  the  river  on  the  east.  The  prospect  from  the 
church-yard  embraces  the  whole  valley  of  Strathmore  from  its 
extreme  boundary  on  the  west  to  the  Hunter  HiU  of  Glamis 
on  the  east ;  a  prospect  of  unparalleled  sublimity  and  beauty 
combining  the  luxuriant  loveliness  of  the  richly  wooded, 
cultivated  valley,  with  the  magnificent  grandeur  of  mountain 
scenery  in  all  its  varied  aspects  of  light  and  shade  so  dear  to 
the  lover  of  Nature,  and  so  highly  prized  by  the  painter  and 
the  poet. 

The  parochial  registers  of  this  parish,  like  those  of  Ben- 
dochy  are  curious  and  instructive,  and  throw  a  startling  light 
on  the  manners  and  customs  of  our  fathers.  From  these 
ancient  Sessional  records,  unearthed  by  Mr  William  Shaw 
Soutar,  I  may  be  permitted  to  give  a  few  specimens. 

First,  as  to  strictness  of  discipline  : — "  October  15,  1648, 
The  minister  asking  if  there  was  any  new  scandal,  the  session 
declare  that  George  Clyde,  Andrew  Keay,  and  Walter 
Butchart,  were  shearing  come  the  last  Sabbath,  and  George 
Watson  did  threshe  the  said  Sabbath.  The  kirk-officer 
ordained  to  summon  them  against  ye  next  day."    In  obedience 


BLAIKGOWRIE.  461 

to  the  summons,  the  culprits  duly  appeared  before  the 
august  tribunal : — "  October  29,  1648,  the  above  parties 
called  comperit,  quho,  after  long  denying,  at  last  being 
convinced,  confessed  the  breach  of  ye  Sabbath,  as  they  alleged 
after  sunsetting.  After  ye  minister  had  aggravated  yair  sinne, 
by  shewing  yat  ye  whole  Sabbath  is  religiouslie  to  be 
observed  not  only  in  the  Kirk,  but  in  yair  private  families, 
the  sessione  ordain  them  to  satisfie  ye  next  Lord's  day,  before 
ye  pulpit,  in  humbling  themselves  and  acknowledging  their 
breach  of  Sabbath  before  ye  congregation."  On  the  12th 
August,  1649,  ''compeare4  James  Ireland  (adultr.)  in  ye 
public  place  of  repentance  (for  the  twenty-fourth  time,)  and  the 
minister  aggravated  his  sinne,  and  exhorting  him  to  sorrow 
and  griefe  of  heart  for  the  same,  was  continued  to  give  farther 
evidence  of  ye  trueth  of  his  repentanca"  On  the  24th  Feb- 
ruary 1650,'Hhe  Presbyterie  Act  anent  brydals,  ordaining 
thair  sould  not  be  above  eight  persons  in  ye  syde,  that  thair 
sould  be  no  debaucht  pypars  nor  fiddlars,  nor  promiscuous 
dancing,  nor  excessive  drunkennesse,  was  lykeways  intimate 
out  of  ye  pulpit."  The  following  excerpt  of  minute  of  session, 
of  date  19th  July  1650,  shews  that  there  were  contumacious 
individuals  in  those  days  who  rebelled  against  the  despotic 
government  of  the  Kirk  after  a  rather  demonstrative  fashion : 
— '^  the  minister  enquiring  if  there  was  anie  new  scandall,  it 
was  declared  be  some  yat  Andro  Malcolme  had  most  despyt- 
fullie  and  devilishlie  railed  against  ye  sessione,  cursing 
ministers  and  elders.  The  said  Andro  ordained  to  be  cited 
against  next  day."  On  being  commanded  to  evidence  his 
repentance  in  face  of  the  congregation,  and  proving  "  refirac- 
tory  and  contumacious,"  Andro  was  put  into  "  the  jouggs," 
till  he  agreed  to  obey  the  former  ordinance. 

Second,  as  to  Sunday  drinking.  "November  27.  1648, 
Sundrie  people  fined,"  (under  an  ordinance  previously  made 
regarding  the  keeping  of  the  Sabbath),  "and  ordained  to 
satisfie  before  ye  pulpit  Further,  ye  sessione,  for  the  sup- 
pressing of  this  sinne  upon  the  Lord's  day,  doe  also  hereby 


462  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

ordain  that  every  taverene  keeper,  or  seller  of  aile,  quho  runs 
aile  in  tyme  of  sennon,  or  ye  whole  day  in  ane  excessiTe 
manner,  to  any,  sail  pay  hereafter,  as  much  as  ye  drinkers, 
ioties  quoties,  it  sail  be  found  they  are  guiltie  therein/'     This 
ordinance  not  having  apparently  produced  the  desired  effect, 
more  stringent  measures  had  to  be  adopted.      Accordingly  on 
the  5th  August,  1649,  it  was  further  ordained,  that  the  elders 
should  search  the  "  taverene  houses  "  during  afternoon  service, 
"  for  contemners  of  the  Word."     This  ordinance,  also,  proved 
a  comparative  failure,  for  there  seems  to  have  been  "  artful 
dodgers  "  in  existence  then,  as  well  as  in  these  "  degenerate 
days,*'  for  on  August  12.   1649,  there  occurs  the  following 
entry  : — "  The  elders  being  required  to  give  account  of  yair 
diligence  anent  searching  ye  tavern  houses  for  contemners  of 
God's  worship,  reported  that  two  of  them  had  gone  through 
the  toune,  and  searched,  and  had  found  sundrie  in  their  awin 
houses,  quho  declared  to  them  that  they  were  presentlie  going 
to  ye  church,  before  yair  coming  in  to  them.     The  sessione, 
therefore,  to  the  end  that  the  wicked  prevaricatione  of  these 
persons  may  be  better  detected,  ordaine  that  hereafter  they 
search,  not  immediatelie  at  the  beginning  of  ye  afternoon 
service,  but  betwixt  ye  closure  of  the  sermon  and  ye  blessing, 
or  betwixt  ye  last  prayer  and  Psalme,  that  such  persons  as 
then  sail  be  found  may  be  clearly  rendered  inexcusable."    Not- 
withstanding these  severe  ordinances,   the  breaking  of  the 
Sabbath,  and  "  selling  of  aile ''  still  continued  to  vex  the  sorely 
tried  session.     On  the  16th  January  1654,  George  Ambrose 
was  called  before  the  session  to  answer  the  doable  charge  of 
being  absent  from  church,  and  selling  of  ale,  on  the  preced- 
ing Sabbath.      George,  being  apparently  a  bit  of  a  wag, 
**  denied  that  he  sold  any  aile  that  day  in  tyme  of  Divine 
service,  and  that  the  trow  cause  of  his  absence  was,  that  he 
had  but  ane  playd  betwixt  his  wyfe  and  him,  and  that  she 
had  the  use  thereof  that  day,  and  was  in  the  church  1  "     The 
session  were  not  however  to  be  caught  with    chaff,  and 
solemnly   "  reprove  him  of  his  sinne,   and  ordain  him  to 
keepe  the  kirk  in  tyme  cumand,  under  ye  paine  of  censure." 


( 


BLAIRGOWRIE.  463 

Tlxird,  as  to  things  in  general.  On  the  10th  December, 
1648,  "the  Covenant,  and  ane  publick  acknowledgement  of 
the  sinnes  of  the  land,  were  publickly  read  before  the  blessing 
and  a  fast  for  this  effect  intimated,  to  be  keeped  on  Thursday 
first,  and  the  next  Sunday  immediatelie  following ;  and  the 
Covenant  intimated  to  be  renewed  on  ye  said  Lord's  day." 
Witchcraft,  and  other  "  abominable  sinnes,''  seem  to  have 
been  the  cause  of  other  fasts  being  appointed  by  the  Kirk : — 
'*  August  16th,  1649.  The  same  day  there  was  intimat  and 
read  causes  of  a  solemne  fast,  appointed  by  ye  Generall 
Assemblie  to  be  kept  throughout  all  the  congregations  of 
the  kingdom  upon  ye  last  Sabbath  of  this  instant ;"  the 
causes  whereof  were,  inter  alia,  the  following : — I.  "  We 
are  to  moume  for  the  continuance  and  increase  of  sinne  and 
profanitie,  especiallie   of  the  abominable  sinne  of  WUckcraft. 

II.  We  are  to  afflict  our  souls  before  ye  Lord  for  ye  sad 
interruption  of  the  Lord's  work  in  England  and  in  Ireland,  &c. 

III.  Because  our  king  hath  gi-aunied  unto  the  Irish  rebells  the 
full  libertie  of  Poperie"  &c.     Another  fast  was  ordained  on  the 

14th  November  following,  one  of  the  causes  of  which  was  stated 
to  be  "  ye  pregnant  scandall  of  witchcraft  and  charming  within 
this  part  of  ye  land  ;"  and  again  on  26th  May,  1650,  solemn 
thanksgiving  is  intimated  '^  to  be  keeppit  upon  the  2d  of  June, 
the  next  Lord's  day,  for  that  wonderful  vict-orie  over  James 
Grahame  and  his  associates  of  late  in  the  north."  On  the  10th 
October  1652,  intimation  is  given  of  a  collection  "for  the 
sadd  condition  of  the  toune  of  Glasgow,  being  half  burnt."  It 
would  appear  the  members  of  Session  drew  the  sword  of  war 
when  occasion  required,  for  under  the  date  of  12th  November 
1653,  it  is  intimated  that  there  was  "na  sessione,  in  respect 
the  elders  were  withdrawn  in  attending  some  of  Glencairne's 
souldiers  who  were  ranging  throw  the  paroch."  A  meritorious 
act  on  the  part  of  the  Session  must  close  these  interesting 
extracts,  viz: — "February  17,  1650.  Given  this  day  to  Sir 
Bobert  Mubray,  sometyme  Laird  of  BambougalL  now 
become  through  indigence,  ane  poor  supplicant,  twentie-foure 
shillings." 


CHAPTER    XL 

RATTRAY. 

Join  glad  the  poet's  rhyme 

That  o'er  the  landscape  swells, 
Roll  on  the  joyous  chime 

Of  these  sweet  village  bells. 

We  shall  now  cross  the  Ericht  to  the  parish  of  Battray,  on 
our  way  to  Alyth  and  the  Den  of  Airlie.  Although  the 
etymology  of  the  n^Une  be  somewhat  obscure,  the  probability 
is,  that  as  there  are  records  which  bear  the  name  of  Kattray 
as  early  as  1066,  that  name  had  been  transferred  to  the  parish 
in  general,  the  Castle  of  Battray,  on  the  Hill  of  Eattray^ 
having  anciently  been  the  residence  of  the  family  of  that 
name.  As  a  place  of  greater  security  during  the  troublons 
times  of  intestine  wars,  the  family,  it  would  appear,  removed 
from  this  hill  to  Craighall.  With  the  exception  of  a 
few  standing  stones  supposed  to  be  the  ruius  of  a  Druidical 
temple,  and  the  remains  of  the  old  Castle  of  Eattray,  there  are 
no  antiquities  of  any  note  in  the  parish. 

Of  eminent  men  connected  with  the  parish,  Mr  Donald 
Cargill — from  whom  maternally  the  writer  is  lineally  de- 
scended, as  he  is,  fraternally,  from  Mr  James  Guthrie,  another 
no  less  celebrated  martyr — deserves  a  distinguished  place,  as 
one  of  the  ministers  who  lived  and  suffered  in  the  troubled 
and  unhappy  reign  of  Charles  11.  He  was  bom  about  the 
year  1610,  at  Hatton,  in  this  parish,  of  which  estate  his  father 
was  proprietor.  He  studied  at  the  University  of  St  Andrews, 
and  on  being  licensed  to  preach,  was  ordained  minister  of  the 
Barony    parish    of  Glasgow,    where  he  remained  till  the 


RATTRAY.  465 

establishment  of  episcopacy  in  1662.  He  was  at  the  battle 
of  Bothwell  and  received  several  wounds.  The  boldness  of 
his  nature  was  exhibited  in  his  excommunication  of  the  king 
and  his  principal  officers  in  1680.  Shortly  after,  he  was 
apprehended,  tried  and  condemned  by  the  Justiciary  Court 
for  high  treason.  The  sentence  was  immediately  carried  into 
effect,  and  he  was  executed  at  Edinburgh,  on  the  27th  of  July 
1681. 

As  we  proceed  on  our  way,  how  sweet  to  listen  to  the 
distant  sound  of  these  fondly  cherished  village  bells,  whose 
dreamy  ethereal  music  now  swelling  up  from  the  valley  below 
and  softly  floating  on  the  balmy  summer  air,  carries  our  wander- 
ing thoughts,  with  traditionary  swiftness,  far  away  to  the  time, 
when,  as  Pliny  informs  us,  small  bells  (tintinnabula)  were 
suspended  by  chains  in  a  monumental  edifice  erected  by 
Porsenna,  Ring  of  Etruria,  near  Clusium,  five  centuries  before 
the  Christian  era.     Suetonius  also  informs  us  that  Augustus 
Caesar  hung  bells  of  the  same  kind  round  the  temple  of 
Jupiter  Tonans,   at  Borne.      It    is    difficult,    and  perhaps 
impossible  to  ascertain,  however,  when  bells  were  first  used  in 
religious  edifices.      The  inventor  of  bells  of  that  kind  is 
generally  reputed  to  be  Paulinus,  Bishop  of  Nola,  in  Campania, 
the  invention  dating  from  the  beginning  of  the  fifth  century. 
Bells  and  bell-towers  are  repeatedly  mentioned  in  the  eighth 
century.     One  of  the  earliest  of  these  bell-towers  is  the  Cam- 
panile of  St  Peter  at  Eome.     Mr  Gunn  says: — "The  first 
beU-tower  we  hear  of  belonging  to  the  BasiUca,  was  built 
either  by  Adrian  L,  or  by  Stephen  III.    Anastasius  assigns 
it  to  the  latter.     The  date  of  this  tower  is,  however,  by 
Pompeius  Samellus,  placed  higher,  and  perhaps  justly.    From 
a  coin  of  Heraclius,  found  in  the  ruins  \>f  the  latter,  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  he  conjectures  it  was  constructed  about 
610." 

In  his  life  of  Eloy,  written  in  650,  St  Ouen,  Archbishop  of 
Bouen,  mentions  (Campanse)  bells.    They  appear  to  have 

been  known  in  England,  at  the  time  of  Bede,  for  the  Arch- 

20 


466  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

bishop,  in  giving  an  account  of  the  death  of  Hilda,  Abbess  of 
Whitby,  represents  the  event  as  being  miraculously  made 
known  to  a  nun  of  the  monastery  of  Hakeness  '*by  the 
familiar  sound  of  a  belL" 

Coming  down  to  the  nineteenth  century,  we  all  know  tihe 
intense  effect  which  the  distant  sound  of  cathedral  bells  had 
on  the  iron  mind  of  the  great  Napoleon,  in  the  midst  of  his 
sanguinary  career  of  boundless  ambition  and  heroic  vic- 
tories. 

In  Scotland,  however,  we  know  little  of  the  exquisite 
pleasure  experienced  in  listening  to  the  sweet  music  of 
the  village  and  city  bells  of  our  more  favoured  sister,  England. 
On  a  still  Sabbath  morning,  every  hamlet  and  town,  every 
valley  and  hill,  is  vocal  with  the  hallowed  sounds  of  musical 
reverberating  chimes,  ringing  out  harmoniously  from  every 
ivy-covered  belfry  and  lofty  cathedral  tower,  till  the  out- 
spreading landscape,  far  and  near,  is  filled  with  divinest 
melody.  And  yet  after- all,  dear  reader,  it  is  not  the  richness 
of  the  music,  but  the  tender  associations  encompassing  the 
sound  of  the  "  Sabbath  bell,''  that  is  so  dear  to  a  Scotman's 
heart,  whether  he  lovingly  lingers  at  home  among  his  native 
hills,  or  boldly  braves  the  dangers  of  distant  lands,  where 

"  No  Sabbath  bell 

Awakes  the  Sabbath  mom, 
Nor  sound  of  reapers  heard 
Among  the  yellow  com !  *' 

Very  solemn  and  sweet  at  all  times  to  the  sensitive  mind, 
are  the  sounds,  of  whatever  kind,  of  distant  music,  but  chief 
at  balmy  summer  eventide,  when  it  softly  dies  away  among  the 
distant  hills,  more  dearly  loved  the  farther  from  us  it  recedes, 
more  sweet  the  faii^ter  it  becomes,  like  dying  song,  low 
breathed,  of  some  pure  sainted  spirit  gone  to  rest  in  the  land 
o'  the  leal ! 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

ALYTH. 

Oh  !  whither  shall  we  roam,  my  lore, 
By  mountain,  glen,  or  stream,  or  grove, 
Where,  on  this  gladsome  summer's  day, 
Shall  we,  beloved  one,  hie  away  ? 

Craighall  and  Sattray,  with  their  romantic  surroundings, 
having  abeadj  been  described,  there  is  nothing  more  of 
sufficient  importance  to  detain  us  longer  on  our  way  to  the  braes 
of  Angus.  We  shall,  therefore,  at  once  proceed  thither,  taking 
the  ancient  town  of  Alyth  on  our  way,  not  forgetting  to  cast 
a  loving  and  admiring  gaze  on  the  beautiful  Howe  on  our 
right  with  its  many  towns  and  villages,  its  churches,  castles, 
woods,  and  streams ;  bounded  grandly  on  the  south  by  the 
undulating  range  of  the  Sidlaws,  now  clothed  to  their  summits 
with  hanging  sylvan  woods,  or  waving  fields  of  golden  grain ; 
anon  diversified  by  grassy  uplands,  and  richly  purpling 
heather  hills. 

Here  comes  the  creaking,  heavy  laden  waggon,  slowly  along 
the  white  and  dusty  road,  and  by  it  proudly  walks  the  stalwart 
peasant,  cracking  his  long  whip  loudly  in  the  summer  air, 
while  cheerily  whistling  some  favourite  rustic  air  dear  to  his 
manly  heart.  There  goes  the  firesh  and  rosy  shepherd  boy, 
with  his  fleecy  flock  of  ewes  and  lambs,  and  his  ever  faithfbl 
«ollie  dog  keeping  diligent  watch  and  ward  over  the  numer- 
ous, yet  obedient  flock  committed  to  his  charge.  See  how  his 
canine  sagacity  is  exercised  in  carefully  tending,  yet  gently 
chiding  yon  little  bleating  lamb  that,  tired  and  bewildered, 
laggs  wearily  in  the  rear !     While  admiring  the  patient 


468  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

docility  of  the  flock,  let  us  encouragingly  stroke  as  we  pass, 
the  smooth  silky  head  of  their  shaggy  guardian,  who,  you  will 
observe,  repays  our  kindness  by  an  answering  glance  of  intelli- 
gent appreciation  from  his  speaking  eyes,  and  by  expressively 
wagging  for  a  moment  his  bushy  tail,  without  apparently 
withdrawing  his  supervision  from  the  little  bleating  lamb  to 
which  he  pays  far  more  attention  than  to  the  rest  of  its 
companions  on  account  of  its  inability  to  keep  pace  with 
the  straggling  flock.  Kindness  to  animals,  as  well  as  kindness 
to  children,  should  be  a  loving  part  of  our  nature,  which  when 
exercised  to  either,  will  always  bring  with  it  its  own  reward. 

The  town  of  Alyth  was  created  a  burgh  or  barony  in  the 
reign  of  James  III.  It  would  seem,  however,  to  have  been  a 
place  of  some  importance  at  a  much  earlier  period,  for  it  is 
said  that  David  Bruce,  who  reigned  from  1341  to  1371, 
granted  an  edict  in  favour  of  that  town,  prohibiting  Kirriemuir, 
Alyth,  &c.,  from  holding  weekly  markets,  as  being  within  the 
liberties  of  Dundee.  The  antiquity  of  the  parish  itself  can  be 
traced  still  farther  back,  for  the  lands  of  Bamfl*  were  granted 
by  Alexander  II.,  in  the  year  1232,  to  Nessus  de  Eamsay, 
the  lineal  ancestor  of  the  present  proprietor,  Sir  James 
Eamsay,  Bart.  In  1303,  King  David  II.  confirmed  a  charter 
previously  granted  by  the  Earl  of  Marr  to  the  Lyndesays, 
afterwards  Earls  of  Crawford,  of  the  lands  of  Balwyndoloch, 
now  Ballendoch ;  and  by  successive  charters  from  Scottish 
Kings  the  family  came  into  possession  of  nearly  the  whole  of 
the  parish  of  Alyth.  In  1630,  having  fallen  into  straightened 
circumstances,  that  family  having  previously  sold  the  greater 
part  of  their  lands  piecemeal,  disposed  of  all  their  remaining 
property  in  the  district  to  the  family  of  Airlie. 

The  lower  part  of  the  parish  lies  in  the  valley  of  Strathmore, 
forming  an  irregular  square  of  nearly  four  miles  a-side.  The 
parish  is  watered  by  the  Isla  and  Ericht,  and  is  also  traversed 
by  the  bum  of  Alyth,  and  other  minor  streams.  Mount  Blair 
rises  at  the  northern  extremity  of  the  parish  to  the  height  of 
1700  feet.    Three  miles  to  the  south  of  Mount  Blair,  is 


ALYTH.  469 

iiicturesquely  situated,  on  the  banks  of  the  Ericht,  the  hill  of 
Kingseat,  1178  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  The  other 
elevations  of  the  parish  are  Barryhill,  and  the  hills  of  Loyall 
^nd  Alyth. 

Notwithstanding  the  proximity  of  powerfid  royalist  families, 
the  people  of  Alyth  seem  to  have  adhered  rigidly  to  the  cause 
of  Presbytery.  During  the  troublous  period,  from  1 640  to  1 660, 
there  occur  several  entries  in  the  Session  Eecords,  as  to  inter- 
missions of  public  worship,  "  because  of  the  common  enemy." 
During  the  greater  part  of  1646,  Montrose's  army  was  stationed 
in  the  immediate  neighbourhood,  to  the  great  consternation  of 
the  inhabitants  :  as  appears  from  the  following  entries,  viz., — 
"  July  5  day  1646,  first  SabbatL  Given  to  Hendrie  Gargill 
X  sh"  for  to  go  to  the  camp  to  trie  and  search  some  news  from 
the  malignants,  and  that  he  may  forwamisse  of  their  cuming 
upon  us.  July  2  Sab  :  This  day  no  preaching,  because  of  the 
common  enemie.  July  3  Sab.  and  4  Sab.:  No  preaching,  be- 
cause Montrose  was  so  near  us.  August  the  first  Sab.  and  2 
day :  Ther  was  no  preaching  with  us  since  the  last  Fast, 
(Feby.  1st)  because  the  enemie  was  quarterit  in  our  bownds. 
This  day  our  minister  taught." 

Among  the  entries  a  few  years  afterwards,  occur  the  following 
— ^viz.,  "August  the  last  day  1651 ;  This  day  no  preaching, 
because  our  minister  was  taken  on  Thursday  last  by  the 
Englishes,  being  the  28  of  August  1661."  "March  the  28, 
1652  :  No  preaching,  except  only  one  Englishe  trooper  went 
up  to  ye  pulpit,  and  made  ane  forme  of  ahe  preaching  who 
hade  no  warrant  to  preach,  whose  text  was  upon  the  45 
Psalm,  18,  14  vs."  After  the  Restoration,  however,  a  change 
seems  to  have  come  over  "  the  spirit  of  their  dream,"  for  we 
find  both  minister  and  people  quietly  submitting  to  the 
altered  state  of  things  : — "  March  15, 1663  :  This  day,  the  clerk 
writter  hereof,  being  appointed  and  ordained  be  the  minister 
and  session  to  everie  Sab.,  before  the  incoming  of  the  minister 
to  the  pulpit,  red  this  day,"  &c.  In  1667,  it  is  further 
recorded  that  Mr  Thomas  Eobertson  was  inducted  as  assistant 


470  8TRATHM0RE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

and  successor,  with  the  usages  and  ceremonies  of  the  Episcopal 
ChurcL 

The  Flora  of  the  parish  although  not  extensive,  is  jet  rich 
in  rare  and  beautiful  plants,  amongst  which  may  be  noticed 
the  following,  viz. — the  Alisma  ranuneuloides,  the  Scrophidarut 
vernalis,  the  Serdcio  saraceniais,  the  Astragalus  glycypkylluSj  the 
Trollius  EuropasuSf  the  Campanula  lalifolia,  and  the  GalKtan 
boreale.  In  the  upland  districts  may  be  found,  the  Orobus 
sylvaiicuSf  the  Trienialis  EurapcBa,  the  Saxrifraga  aixoides,  and  the 
Erica  vulgaris  aiba  (white  heath) — these  latter  very  abundantly. 

The  ruins  of  several  old  castles  in  the  parish  add  consider- 
ably  to  its  other  attractions.  The  principal  of  these  are  the 
remains  of  the  old  castle  of  Inverquiech,  situated  at  the  junc- 
tion of  the  Bum  of  Alyth  with  the  Isla.  The  date  of  the 
erection  of  this  castle  is  lost  in  the  mists  of  antiquity.  In  a 
charter  granted  by  Bobert  TL  in  1394,  to  his  nephew  James 
de  Lyndesay,  it  is  mentioned  as  'Hhe  King's  Castle  of 
Inucuytb,"  and  appears  to  have  been  even  then  in  ruins.  At 
Corb,  there  are  also  the  remains  of  a  castle,  the  name  of  which 
is  unknown.  It  is  supposed  to  have  been  a  hunting-seat  of 
the  Scottish  Kings,  or  of  the  Earls  of  Crawford,  from  its 
situation  being  on  the  borders  of  the  forest 

The  most  attractive  place,  to  the  antiquarian,  however,  is 
doubtless  the  fort  on  Barry  Hill  which  Chalmers  considers  to 
be  coeval  with  the  Roman  Invasion.  It  would  appear  to  have 
been  a  pictish  entrenchment  of  great  strength,  the  remains  of 
which  are  still  in  a  very  perfect  state  of  preservation.  A  deep 
fosse,  about  ten  feet  in  height,  seems  to  have  protected  the 
fort  on  the  east  and  south ;  the  other  sides  of  the  hill  being 
so  precipitous  as  to  render  such  an  artificial  defence  unneces- 
sary. Some  remains  exist  of  a  narrow  bridge  thrown  over 
the  fosse;  and  though  there  is  no  vestige  of  a  well,  there 
was,  until  lately,  a  very  deep  pond,  which  the  tenants  in  their 
wisdom,  thought  proper  to  fill  up,  the  spot  of  ground  reclaimed 
being  doubtless,  in  their  eyes,  of  more  value  than  antiquarian 
associations  however  ancient  or  important 


AI.YTH.  471 

Numerous  legends  spread  their  mystic  halo  around  this 
ancient  fort.  •  The  chief  of  these  may  be  said  to  be  that 
referring  to  Vanora  or  Guinevar,  already  referred  to  in  the 
description  of  the  monuments  traditionally  erected  to  her 
infamous  memory  at  Meigle.  The  title  conferred  by  the  local 
tradition,  on  the  heroine  of  the  story  being  that  of  Queen 
Wander,  a  malignant  giantess,  is  not  certainly  so  high  sound- 
ing as  that  of  the  wife  of  King  Arthur.  The  legends  all 
agree,  however,  in  representing  this  fortified  castle  as  the 
residence  or  prison  of  Arthur's  Queen.  What  after  all,  should 
the  surmises  of  Captain  Mitchell  turn  out  to  be  the  correct 
interpretation  of  these  ancient  monuments  at  Meigle,  and  thus 
at  once  sever  the  alleged  connection  between  them  and  Barry 
Hill  ?  Mr  Mitchell  considers  them  *'  as  neither  more  nor  less 
than  the  monuments  of  the  Knights  Templars,  who  unquestion- 
ably had  a  burying-ground  at  Meigle.  At  the  top  of  the 
south  face  of  the  largest  stone,  the  armorial  bearings  of  the 
kingdom  of  Jerusalem  may  be  distinctly  traced,  and  the 
group  of  figures,  now  almost  obliterated,  which  has  been  sup- 
posed to  represent  Yanora  torn  in  pieces  by  wild  beasts,  (and 
on  which  the  popular  tradition  was  very  probably  founded), 
may  be  considered,  with  great  probability,  as  an  allegorical 
representation  of  Judea  rescued  by  the  Crusaders. " 

To  the  south  of  Barry  Hill,  there  are  several  rude  obelisks, 
or  "  Standing  Stones,"  on  one  of  which  there  is  the  mark  of  a 
large  horse  shoe,  with  indistinct  traces  of  other  figures. 
Tradition  refers  to  the  time  of  King  Robert  the  Bruce,  as  the 
date  of  their  erection,  but  they  evidently  belong  to  a  much 
more  remote  period. 

The  parish  records,  Mr  Bamsay  states,  commence  in  1624, 
and  the  minutes  of  session  in  1637.  Many  of  the  earlier 
entries  given  by  him  are  extremely  curious.  One  of  the  most 
remarkable  is  the  entry  for  the  9th  of  February  1651,  which 
is  as  follows : — "  This  day  my  Lord  Ogilvy  declared  his 
repentance  before  the  congregation,  in  the  habit  of  sackcloth, 
confessed  his  sinful  accession  to  General  Major  Middleton's 


472  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

rebellion,  and  for  his  sinfal  miscarriages  against  the  Covenant, 
and  gave  great  evidence  of  his  heartie  grief  for  the  samine,  to 
the  full  satisfaction  of  the  whole  congregation. "  On  the  18th  of 
August,  and  first  of  September,  1649,  fifteen  soldiers,  who  had 
taken  arms  in  what  is  called  the  "  unlawful  engagement, "  pro- 
fessed their  repentance,  and  were  admitted  to  the  renewal  of 
the  covenant  as  a  necessary  preliminary  to  their  participating 
in  the  communion.    The  cases  of  contumacy  are  numerous ; 
and  in  addition  to  the  classes  of  offences  which  usually  fall 
under  the  cognizance  of  a  church  court,  the  Kirk  session  seems 
to  have  been  frequently  occupied  with  cases  of  "  fechting  and 
fiyting,"    slander,  &c.,   with  occasional  investigations  into 
charges  of  witchcraft.     Having  regard  to  the  changed  circum- 
stances of  the  times  in  which  we  live  very  few  now  will  ques- 
tion the  conclusion  to  which  the  late  minister  of  the  parish, 
Mr  Bamsay,  reflectingly  arrived,  viz. — "On  the  whole, however, 
if  we  may  judge  from  the  ecclesiastical  records  of  this  parish, 
the  parochial  police  of  that  period,  to  which  many  are  disposed 
to  look  back  as  a  golden  age  of  purity  and  piety,  can  hardly 
be  regarded  in  any  other  view  than  as  most  injudiciously  and 
unjustifiably  rigid,  and    rather   calculated  to  irritate  and 
harden  the  offender,  than  to  win  him  to  repentance. " 


CHAPTER    XLII. 

DEN  OF  AIRLIE. 

"  Aigyle  has  raised  a  hunder  men, 

A  hunder  men  an'  mairly. 

An'  he's  awa  doiin  by  the  back  o'  Dunkeld, 

To  plunder  the  bonnie  house  o'  Airlie." 

Old  Ballad. 

The  name  of  the  parish  of  Airlie  is  supposed  to  have  been 
Airdly,  from  the  Gaelic  Aird,  signifying  the  extremity  of  a 
ridge,  and  which  exactly  describes  the  locality  of  Airlie 
Castle.  It  is  situated  in  the  western  part  of  Forfarshire,  and 
borders  upon  Perthshire.  The  southern  part  stretches  along 
the  Howe  of  Strathmore,  gradually  rising  in  a  series  of  undu- 
lating ridges,  forming  a  portion  of  the  braes  of  Angus.  The 
principal  ridge  stretches  along  the  north  side  of  the  parish, 
and  terminates  in  a  deep  rocky  gorge,  through  which  the  im- 
petuous Isla  pours  its  troubled  waters  firom  the  high  lands  into 
those  of  the  low  country.  At  Airlie  Castle,  this  wild  ravine 
separates  into  two  parts,  which  form,  respectively,  the 
channels  of  the  Isla,  and  the  Melgum. 

As  the  genealogy  of  the  noble  house  of  Airlie  will  be  more 
appropriately  alluded  to  in  the  succeeding  chapter,  suffice  it 
here  to  state,  that  this  noble  family  became  connected  with 
the  parish  in  the  year  1468,  when  Sir  John  Ogilvy  of  Lintra- 
then,  received  a  grant  of  the  Castle  and  Barony  from 
James  II. 

The  Den  of  Airlie,  celebrated  for  its  fine  river  scenery  and 
romantic  beautyi  extends  about  a  mDe  below  the  junction  of 
the  Isla  and  the  Melgum,  and  forms  one  of  the  most  pictur- 
esque and  beautiful  scenes  to  be  met  with  in  the  country. 
The  luxuriant  brushwood  of  the  Den  consists  chiefly  of  oak. 


474      STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

and  is  remarkable  as  containing  the  most  easterly  remains  of 
natural  oakwood  on  the  southern  face  of  the  Grampians. 

The  Den  of  Airlie,  besides  its  unrivalled  scenery,  and 
historical  associations,  is  classic  ground  to  the  botanical 
student,  having  been  a  favourite  resort  of  the  elder  Don,  and 
the  scene  of  some  of  his  earliest  discoveries.  Here,  amongst 
many  other  rare  plants  enumerated  by  Dr.  Barty,  are  to  be 
found,  in  comparatively  so  small  a  space,  the  Ribes  peiroBum 
or  rock  currant ;  the  Orobtis  niger ;  the  curious  Paris  qaadrifoHn 
rare  in  Strathmore  j  the  interesting  Nidus-avis ;  the  Ftda 
sylvatica^  with  its  trailing  festoons  of  beautiful  flowers ;  the 
diowj  EpUobium  augustifolium;  while  the  gray  walls  of 'Airlie 
Castle  are  redolent  with  the  sweetly  scented  wall-flower,  the 
Chaira/nihus  Ckeiri,  a  favourite  plant  in  the  garden,  looking 
still  more  attractive  in  its  wild)  natural  beauty,  as  it  clings 
with  loving  tenacity  to  the  sheltered  crevices  of  the  classical 
hoary  pile. 

Come — let  us  wreathe  a  garland  sweefc 

Of  wild-flowen  blooming  at  our  feet, 

And  twine  the  mountain  heather  green. 

To  weare  a  crown  for  fairy  queen. 

Now  mark  the  varied  coloured  hue 

Of  mountain  flowers — some  softly  blue, 

And  glistering  bright  with  pearly  dew  ; 

Some  blooming  like  the  purple  beU, 

Which  loTCS  the  lonesome  mossy  dell ; 

While  some,  all  hung  ¥dth  silver  sheen. 

Look  pure  as  angels*  robes,  I  ween, 

And  gently  humming  sounds  distil. 

Like  distant  song  of  flowing  rill ; 

And  though  the  music  deeper  swells. 

The  beOf  deep  in  these  silyery  cells, 

Pursues  her  task  with  busy  feet. 

And  loads  her  wings  with  nectar  sweet ! 

Of  mountain  flowers  then  twine  the  wreath — 

How  rich  the  perfume  which  they  brojithe  ! 

But  mark  the  leaves  of  every  flower. 

And  say  if  aught  in  garden  bower. 

Can  e'er  these  gorgeous  tints  outvie, 

Those  beauteous  flowerets  of  the  sky. 


DEN  OF  AIRUE.  475 

How  delicate  their  colours  bright  I 

Of  petals,  purple,  blue,  and  white  ; 
What  rich  embroid'ry  gems  the  form 
Of  these  lone  children  of  the  storm  ! 

Although  in  reality,  it  was  at  the  Castle  of  Forter,  in  Glen- 
isla,  that  the  incidents  recorded  in  the  popular  old  ballad  of 
the  "  Bonnie  House  o'  Airlie/'  took  place,  tradition  still  clings 
to  Airlie  Castle,  as  the  scene  of  Argyle's  cruelties,  just  as  it 
tenaciously  does  to  the  Castle  of  Glamis,  as  the  locale  of  the 
murder  of  Duncan  and  the  scene  of  the  deadly  combat  between 
Macduff  and  Macbeth. 

It  is  matter  of  history,  however,  that  the  Earl  of  Airlie 
was  one  of  the  most  faithful  and  distinguished  champions  of  | 

the  royal  cause,  and  that  in  1639  the  middle  parts  of  Scotland 
were  put  under  his  command  by  king  Charles  I.  In  the  year 
1640,  to  avoid  the  necessity  of  subscribing  the  covenant,  the 
Earl  covertly  passed  over  to  England,  and  knowing  this,  his 
hereditary  enemy,  the  Earl  of  Argyll,  obtained  authority  from 
the  Committee  of  Estates  to  take  and  destroy  the  Castle  of 
Airlie  and  that  of  Forter,  in  Glenisla,  which  was  also  one  of 
the  seats  of  the  Airlie  family.  Argyll,  according  to  Spalding, 
raised  a  body  of  5000  men  of  his  own  clan,  and  proceeded  in 
the  month  of  July  to  execute  lus  commission.  The  Castle 
had  been  left  in  the  charge  of  Lord  Ogilvy,  the  Earl's  eldest  son, 
— ^who  had  recently  maintained  it  against  the  assault  of  the 
Earl  of  Montrose — ^but  on  the  approach  of  Argyll's  army,  he 
regarded  all  idea  of  resistance  as  hopeless,  and  abandoned  it 
at  once  to  the  assailants,  who  plundered  it  of  everything  which 
they  coveted,  and  could  carry  away  with  them,  and  burned  it  i 

to  the  ground. 

Argyll  not  only  directed  the  siege,  but  personally  lent  a 
willing  and  earnest  hand  in  the  work  of  demolition.  Accord- 
ing to  the  parson  of  Bothiemay — "  He  was  seen  taking  a 
hammer  in  his  hand  and  knocking  down  the  hewed  work  of  the  I 

doors  and  windows  till  he  did  sweat  for  heat  at  his  work.'*  i 

It  will  be  observed,  that  the  ballad,  instead  of  taking  the  I 


476       STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

poetical  licence  of  exaggeration,  very  materially  diminishes 
the  number  of  the  besiegers,  in  as  much  as  while  the  historian 
states  the  army  of  Argyll  to  have  amounted  to  5000  men,  the 
lyrist  modestly  puts  down  the  number  as  only  a  '  hunder.* 
The  statement  that  "  he's  awa*  down  by"  the  back  o'  Dunkeld," 
may  have  been  the  foundation  of  the  tradition,  that  the  men 
who  burned  Airlie  Castle  halted  on  the  night  previous  at  the 
haughs  of  Rattray. 

True  to  his  conmiission,  Argyll  and  his  men  also  demolished 
the  Castle  of  Forter,  but  tradition  saith  the  Campbells  kept 
possession  of  it  for  several  months  before  they  destroyed  and 
abandoned  it.  It  was  here  where  the  Lady  Ogilvy  was 
residing,  and  not  at  Airlie  Castle^  when  the  destruction  of 
the  two  houses  was  perpretated  by  Argyll  Lady  Ogilvy,  it 
is  said,  was  treated  with  the  greatest  cruelty  by  Argyll,  "  who 
not  only  would  not  allow  her,  although  far  advanced  in  preg- 
nancy, to  remain  at  Forter  till  she  was  brought  to  bed,  but 
even  refused  to  grant  permission  to  her  grandmother,  and 
his  own  kinswoman,  the  Lady  Drimmie,  to  receive  her  into 
her  house  of  Kelly." 

The  house  of  Craig  in  Glenisla,  although  not  included  in 
Argyll's  commission,  was  destroyed  at  the  same  time.  The 
particulars  of  the  event  are  thus  related  by  Gordon  : — "  At 
such  time  as  Argyll  was  making  havoc  of  Airlie's  lands,  he  was 
not  forgetful  of  old  quarrels  to  Sir  John  Ogilvy  of  Craig, 
cousin  to  Airlie ;  therefore  he  directs  one,  sergeant  Campbell, 
to  Sir  John  Ogilvy's  house,  and  gives  him  warning  to  sleight  it. 
The  sergeant  coming  thither  found  a  sick  gentlewoman  there, 
and  some  servants,,  and  looking  upon  the  house  with  a  full 
survey,  returned  without  doing  anything,  teUing  Argyll  what 
he  had  seen,  and  that  Sir  John  Ogilv/s  house  was  no  strength 
at  all,  and  therefore  he  conceived  that  it  fell  not  within  his 
orders  to  cast  it  down.  Argyll  fell  in  some  chafe  with  the 
sergeant,  telling  him  that  it  was  his  part  to  have  obeyed  his 
orders,  and  instantly  conmianded  him  back  again,  and  caused 
him  deface  and  spoil  the  house.*' 


DEN  OF  AIRLIE.  477 

The  old  castle  of  Airlie  is  supposed  to  have  belonged  to 
the  same  age  as  those  of  Redcastle,  and  Castle  Guthrie,  the 
latter  being  the  seat  of  Guthrie  of  Guthrie,  the  most  ancient 
family  in  the  County  of  Angus.     It  occupied  a  commanding 
site  on  the  rocky  promontory  at  the  confluence  of  the  Melgum 
and  the  Isla.     A  building  of  great  strength,  both  as  regards 
position  and  masonry,  it  ranked  as  one  of  the  noblest  and 
most    formidable  baronial  residences  in  the  country,  and 
previous  to  the  introduction  of  artillery,  must  have  been 
almost  impregnable.     In  its  original  state  it  had  the  form  of 
an  oblong  quadrangle,  and  occupied  nearly  the  whole  summit 
of  the  promontory.     The  massive  wall  which  protected  the 
castle  on  the  eastern  and  most  accessible  side,  together  with 
the    portcullis  entry,  still  remain  in   connexion  with  the 
modern  mansion  of  Airlie.    The  fosse  also  continues  distinct, 
although  now  partially  filled  up  to  suit  the  questionable  ideas 
of  modern  improvement.     And  these  few  remains  are  all  that 
is  left  of  the  "  fionnie  House  o'  Airlie  I  " 

Byron  says — "  Not  that  I  love  man  the  less,  but  Nature 
more,"  which,  to  be  in  full  accordance  with  my  own  feelings, 
I  should  alter  thus — ^Not  that  I  love  Nature  less,  but  man- 
kind before.  Intensely  as  I  adore  and  love  Nature  in  all  her 
varied  moods  of  sunshine  and  storm,  sublime  magnificence 
and  golden  beauty,  I  still  more  intensely  adore  and  love  the 
human  heart,  with  all  its  warm  affections,  tender  emotions, 
its  deep-seated,  holy,  unchangeable  love.  Hence,  I  never 
feel  my  landscapes  to  be  complete,  without  the  voices  of 
children  mingling  in  the  diapason  of  song.  There  may  be 
the  choral  melody  of  birds,  the  sweet  murmuring  of  streams, 
the  mystic  music  of  the  distant  sea,  but  all  is  to  me  compara- 
tively a  world  of  silence  without  human  interest  being  mani- 
fested in  the  scene,  and  human  voices  blending  with  Nature's 
far  resounding  hymn  of  universal  joy. 

So,  as  when  at  Craighall,  our  thoughts  at  first  reverted  to 
the  mythical  baron  of  Bradwardine,  they  converged  in  the  end 
on  that  recent  catastrophe,  by  which  a  young  and  blooming 


478  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

maiden  was  suddenly  bereft  of  life,  just  because  of  its  human 
interest,  and  having  in  it  that ''  touch  of  nature  which  makes 
the  whole  world  kin ; "  we  now  leaye  the  recital  of  the  bar- 
barous cruelties  of  Argyll,  and  the  cruel  wrongs  of  Airlie, 
and  fix  our  thoughts  on  the  sad  and  sudden  death  of  the 
young  Cambridge  student,  at  the  yery  moment  the  prize  of 
liis  ambition  seemed  to  be  within  his  reach. 

Mr  Andrew  Craik,  M.A.,  and  fourth  wrangler  at  Cam- 
bridge, was  bom  and  brought  up  on  the  Braes  of  Airlie,  where 
his  father  has  a  small  pendicle.    From  his  boyhood,  he 
evinced  great  aptitude  for  learning,  displaying  more  than 
ordinary  talents  in  mastering  the  elements  of  classical  and 
general  literature.     From  the  parish  school  of  Airlie,  he  went 
to  the  University  of  Aberdeen,  where  he  was  a  distinguished 
student.    The    bursaries   and    prizes  which  he  gained   at 
Aberdeen  and  in  Glasgow,  amounted  to  £500,  which  enabled 
him  to  pursue  his  studies  without  requiring  any  assistance 
from  his  friends.     At  Cambridge,  he  at  once  gained  a  scholar- 
ship, and  was  appointed  by  the  University  to  lecture  in  some 
of  the  principal  towns  in  England.    Had  he  Uved  a  few  days 
longer,  he  would  have  got  his  Fellowship.     A  good  classical 
scholar,  and  a  distinguished  mathematician,  his  whole  career 
was  one  of  splendid  success.    He  died,  after  a  few  hours' 
illness,  at  Emmanuel  College,  Cambridge,  on  the  2d  June 
1874,  at  the  early  age  of  twenty-seven* 

His  early  death  has  caused  wide-fipread  regret.  His 
winning,  unassuming  manners  endeared  him  to  the  poor; 
his  gentlemanly  bearing  and  well-stored  mind,  made  him  a 
welcome  guest  at  the  tables  of  the  higher  classes.  The  Earl 
of  Airlie,  with  his  accustomed  discernment  and  generosity 
of  heart,  took  an  early  interest  in  his  welfare,  and  encouraged 
him  to  proceed  bravely  on  in  his  literary  career;  while  a 
letter  from  the  countess,  congratulating  him  on  his  Cambridge 
successes,  was  one  of  the  earliest  received,  as  it  was  amongst 
the  most  highly  prized  by  his  mother. 

Only  a  few  days  before  his  death,  he  wrote  home  that  he 


DEN  OF  AIRUE.  479 

had  secured  a  lectureship,  and  that  he  had  a  hope  almost 
reaching  to  assurance,  that  he  was  soon  to  receive  a  Fellow- 
ship of  considerable  value.  He  expressed  himself  as  longing 
for  home ;  that,  rich  as  were  the  English  landscapes  which 
daily  met  his  eye,  no  fields  were  so  green,  nor  woods  so 
beautiful  as  those  of  Airlie. 

The  Bonnie  Bbaes  0'  Airlib.* 

Bonnie  ling  £he  birds  in  the  bright  English  vaUeys, 
Bonnie  bloom  the  flowers  in  the  lime-shelter'd  alleys, 
Golden  rich  the  air  with  perfume  laden  rarely, 
But  dearer  far  to  me  the  bonnio  braes  o*  Airlie. 

Winding  flows  the  Cam,  but  it's  no  my  ain  loyed  Isla, 
Rosy  decked  the  meads,  bat  they're  no  like  dear  Glenisla, 
Cloudless  shines  the  sun,  but  I  wish  I  saw  it  fairly, 
Sweet  blinkin'  through  the  mist  on  the  bonnie  braes  o'  Airlie. 

Thirsting  for  a  name,  I  left  my  natire  mountains, 
Drinking  here  my  fiU  at  the  pure  classic  fountains. 
Striving  hard  for  fame,  I've  wrestled  late  an'  early, 
An'  a'  that  I  might  rest  on  the  bonnie  braes  o'  Airlie. 

Yonder  gleams  the  prise  for  which  I've  aye  been  longing — 
Darkness  comes  atween  my  struggles  sad  prolonging  ; 
Dimly  grow  my  een,  an'  my  heart  is  breaking  sairly, 
Waes  me  1  I'U  nerer  see  the  bonnie  braes  o'  Airlie. 

*  Set  to  music  by  Alfred  Stella. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

KIRRIEMUIR. 


"  Eirriemuir  bears  the  gree.** 

I}ruffitnond» 


Proceeding  eastward,  and  passing  by  the  dark  woods  and 
castellated  Mansion  of  Lindertis,  the  next  parish  we  reach  is 
Kirriemuir,  anciently  Kil-marie,  a  burgh  or  barony,  of  which 
the  old  Earls  of  Angus  were  superiors.  It  skirts  the  north 
side  of  the  valley  of  Strathmore,  and  its  locality  is  discemable 
from  a  great  distance,  the  hill  of  Kirriemuir  rising  abruptly  to 
a  great  height  immediately  to  the  north  of  the  town.  The  name 
is  supposed  to  be  compounded  of  two  words,  Corrie-mor,  the  largt 
hollow  or  deti.  The  situation  of  the  town  on  the  side  of  a 
ravine  or  den,  fuUy  bears  out  the  derivation.  Nothing 
authentic  is  known  respecting  the  early  history  of  Kirriemuir. 
Tradition  is  silent,  and  history  only  records  some  miniature 
battles  between  the  Ogilvys  and  Lindsays  in  1447. 

The  noble  family  of  Airlie  connected  with  this  parish,  can 
trace  their  genealogy  as  far  back  as  the  reign  of  William  the 
Lion,  who  succeeded  to  the  crown  of  Scotland  in  1165,  being 
descended  from  Gilbert,  third  son  of  Gillebride,  second  Earl  of 
Angus.  King  William  conferred  on  Gilbert  the  lands  of 
Powrie,  and  those  of  Ogilvy  in  the  parish  of  Glamis.  Prom  the 
last  named,  the  surname  of  Ogilvy  was  assumed.  Sir  James 
Ogilvy  was  created  a  peer  by  King  James  IV.,  by  the  title  of 
Lord  Ogilvy  of  Airlie,  and  sat  in  his  Parliament  in  1491. 
The  title  of  Earl  was  conferred  on  the  eighth  Lord  Ogilvy  in 
1639,  by  King  Charles  I.  After  the  rebellion  in  1745,  in 
which  Lord  Ogilvy  was  engaged,  the  title  was  for  sometime 


KIRRIEMXHR.  481 

in  abeyance,  but  was  restored  in  1826,  to  David,  the  late 
Earl,  and  father  to  the  present  nobleman  who  so  worthily 
bears  the  titles  and  honours  of  this  ancient  house. 

The  Ogilvys  of  Inverquharity  trace  their  descent  from 
Walter  Ogilvy  of  Auchterhouse,  and  had  conferred  on  them 
the  lands  and  barony  of  Inverquharity  in  1420.  The  members 
of  this  family  have  generally  distinguished  themselves,  and 
have  held,  in  different  reigns,  the  highest  military  and  civil 
appointments.  Captain  Ogilvy,  son  of  Sir  David  Ogilvy  of 
Inverquharity,  is  said  to  have  been  the  author  of  the  once 
popular  song — "It  was  a'  for  our  rightful  King.*'  The 
present  representative  of  this  ancient  family  is  Sir  John 
Ogilvy  of  Baldovan,  who  ably  represented  Dundee  in  Parlia- 
ment, from  1857  to  1874.  Sir  John,  by  his  dignified  and 
courteous  bearing,  combined  with  continuous  assiduity  in  the 
discharge  of  his  parliamentary  duties,  was  always  regarded  by 
his  constituents  with  the  highest  respect  and  esteem,  and 
general  regret  was  felt  at  the  unexpected  result  of  the 
late  election,  by  which  the  union  which  had  so  long  subsisted 
between  him  and  the  community,  was  so  suddenly  dissolved. 

The  Kirriemuirians,  if  undistinguished  by   their  martial 

prowess  in  the  field  of  battle,  were  noted  for  the  fervour  with 

which  they  pursued  their  inglorious  feuds  with  the  Souters  of 

Forfar.     There  is  a  tradition  or  legend,  that  Drummond  of 

Hawthornden  visited  Forfar  in  the  summer  of  1645,  while  on 

a  tour  through  the  north  of  Scotland,  and  that  he  wajs 

inhospitably  refused  shelter  for  the  night.     The  plague  was 

then  raging  in  many  parts  of  Scotland,  and  this  might  have 

been  the  reason  of  their  uncourteous  and  unfriendly  treatment 

of  the  sensitive  bard.     Stung  by  such  ungenerous  treatment, 

the  poet  disdainfully  shook  the  dust  from  off  his  feet,  and 

betook  himself  to  the  neighbouring  town  of  Kirriemuir,  where 

he   at  once   received    a  hearty    welcome.     Having  become 

acquainted  with  the  pending  feud  betwixt  the  inhabitants  of 

the  two  places,  respecting  a  piece  of  ground  called  the  Muir 

Moss,  which  was  claimed  by  both  parishes,  Drummond  resolved 

2  H 


482  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

to  be  revenged  for  the  aflfront  put  upon  him  by  the  burghers 
of  Forfar.  The  Estates  of  Parliament  were  then  sitting  at 
St  Andrews,  and  Drummond  contrived  to  send  a  veiy  formid- 
able official-looking  docimient  to  the  Provost,  with  the  intention 
that  his  honour  might  suppose  it  came  from  that  august  bodj. 
The  bait  took  so  amazingly  well,  that  the  chief  magistrate 
immediately  convened  the  council  and  clergyman  of  the  burgh 
to  hear  and  deliberate  upon  the  contents  of  the  document.  All 
being  assembled,  with  eager  haste  the  mysterious  missive  was 
opened,  when  much  to  their  chagrin  and  disappointment  they 
found  it  only  contained  the  following  severe  philippic  against 
themselves : — 

'*  The  Eiiriemairianfl  an*  the  Forfarions  met  at  Mair  Moss, 
The  Ejiriemairians  beat  the  Forf arians  back  to  the  cross ; 
Sutora  ye  are,  an  Sutors  yell  be, 
Fye  upo'  Forfar,  Edrriemuir  bears  the  gree  1  *' 

The  rivers  or  streams  in  this  parish  are  the  South  Esk, 
which  takes  its  rise  at  the  mountains  of  Clova,and  falls  into  the 
sea  at  Montrose ;  the  Prosen,  which  runs  through  Glenprosen, 
and  after  receiving  the  waters  of  several  rivulets,  falls  into  the 
South  Esk,  near  Inverquharity ;  the  Carity,  which  rises  at  Bal- 
intore,  and  also  falls  into  the  South  Esk,  near  Inverquharity. 

Some  rare  birds  are  found  in  this  parish,  such  as  the  Golden 
Eagle,  {Falco  Chrysaetos);  the  Blue  hawk,  {F.  cyaneus);  the 
Merlin,  (F,  ^salon);  the  Missel  thrush,  {Turdus  visdvarus); 
the  Ring  or  rock-ousel,  (T,  torqmtus)  the  Snow-bunting,  {Em- 
beriza  nivalis) ;  the  Mountain  finch,  {F.  Trumtifringilla)  ;  the 
Wood-lark,  {Alanda  arborea);  the  Golden-crested  wren  (M, 
regvlus)  the  least  of  all  European  birds;  the  Wood-cock 
{Scohpax  rusiicolo) ;  the  Wild-swan  {Anus  cygnas  ferus)  ;  the 
Spotted  fly-catcher  (Muscipula  grisola)  &c. 

Gatlaw,  the  foremost  mountain  of  the  Grampian  ridge, 
supposed  to  be  the  Mons  Grampius  of  Tacitus,  rising  to  the 
height  of  2,264  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  is  partly 
situated  in  the  parish  of  Kirriemuir,  and  partly  in  the  parish 
of  Kingoldrum.    The  only  eminences  of  any  consequence  in  the 


KIRRIEMUIR.  483 

southern  division  of  the  parish,  are  the  braes  of  Inverquharity, 
and  the  hill  of  Kirriemuir.     The  view  firom  the  latter  hill  is 
very  extensive  and  beautiful  in  the  extreme.    To  the  east  is 
seen  the  hills  of  the  Mearns,  which  extend  to  the  Grerman 
Ocean ;  and  nearer  at  hand,  the  bold  undulating  heights  of 
Finhaven.     To  the  north,  the  scene  that  meets  the  eye  is 
inexpressibly  wild  and  sublime,  hill  rising  upon  hill,  and 
mountain  upon  mountain,  stretching  grandly  away  with  their 
cloud-covered  summits,  to  the  mystic  confines  of  classic  Loch^ 
nagar,  enshrouded  with  ''its  steep  frowning  glories,"  and 
casting  around  its  gloomy  shadow,  like  the  surging,  troublous 
life  of  the  unhappy  yet  noble  poet,  who  loved  in  youth  to  sing 
of  its  weird-like    sublimity    and    awful   grandeur,  till  its 
changing  moods  and  fitful  shades  were  photographed    in 
unfading  lines  upon  the  rugged  fretwork  of  his  dark  tumultuous 
soul.     Far  away  in  the  west,  backed  by  the  mountains  of 
Perthshire,  amidst  a  flood  of  classic  glory,  bright  and  beautiful 
in  the  golden  sunshine,  rise  Birnam  wood  and  lofty  Dunsinane 
hiU,  associated  for  evermore  with  the  matchless  fancy  and 
transcendent  genius  of  the  bard  of  Avon.     To  the  south, 
beneath  our  feet  and  on  either  hand,  lies  in  all  its  unparalleled 
beauty,  the  lovely   valley   of  Stirathmore^  bright  with  its 
glittering  streams  and  daisied  meadows,  luxuriantly  fruitful  in 
its  orchard  woods,  and  waving  fields  of  com  ;  and  supremely 
rich  in  all  the  delicate  tints  and  gorgeous  hues  of  an  eastern 
landscape,  blent  with  the  wilder  beauties  of  mountain  scenery 
as  a  fitting  background  of  Alpine  magnificence. 

A  very  attractive  object  to  the  antiquarian  is  the  ''Standing 
Stone,"  on  the  hill  of  Kirriemuir,  which,  although  it  has  no 
inscription  of  any  kind,  is,  nevertheless,  deeply  interesting  as 
a  voiceless  relic  of  the  past.  The  stone,  since  its  erection,  has 
evidently  been  split  into  two,  one  part  left  standing,  the  other 
lying  on  the  ground.  Above  the  surface  of  the  ground,  the 
standing  part  is  nine  feet  in  height,  and  the  lying  part  oi  the 
stone  nearly  thirteen  feet  in  length.  The  purpose  for  which 
the  stone  was  erected  is  unknown.    Begarding  the  cause  of 


484      STRATHHORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

the  stone  having  been  split  into  two,  tradition  saith,  that 
after  a  most  daring  robbery  had  been  committed  by  them, 
the  robbers  sat  down  beside  the  stone  to  count  their  gold, 
when  the  stone  suddenly  split  into  two,  the  falling  part  bury- 
ing the  robbers  and  their  booty  underneath  together.  It  is 
currently  believed,  that  by  lifting  the  stone,  the  treasure 
would  be  found,  but  to  this  day  no  one  has  had  the  courage  to 
test  the  experiment ! 

Of  Rocking  Stones,  or  as  the  Highlanders  call  them  Cltieha 
Breath,  that  is,  the  stones  ofjvdgment,  there  are  two  a  short  dis- 
tance to  the  north-west  of  the  hill  of  Kirriemuir.  The  one  is 
of  whinstone,  and  the  other  of  porphyry,  being  three  feet  three 
inches  in  height,  nine  feet  in  length,  and  four  feet  ten  inches 
in  breadth ;  and  two  feet  in  height,  eight  feet  in  length,  and 
five  feet  in  breadth,  respectively.  The  most  interesting 
feature  in  connection  with  these  stones,  is  (his,  that  whereas 
Mr  Huddlestone,  in  his  learned  and  elaborate  notes  to  his 
edition  of  Tolland,  authoritatively  asserts,  that  no  two  rock- 
ing stones  are  ever  found  together,  these  stones  are  in  close 
proximity  to  each  other. 

Several  "  Weem's  Holes,"  or  caves  in  the  earth,  have  been 
discovered  in  the  parish;  one  on  the  top  of  the  hill  of 
Meams,  and  another  at  Auchlishie.  That  on  the  hill  is  built 
of  stone,  and  is  about  sixty  or  seventy  yards  in  lengtL  The 
other  is  a  long  subterranean  recess  in  which,  when  it  was 
opened,  a  currah  and  some  querns  were  discovered. 

Descending  from  the  hill  of  Kirriemuir,  let  us  take  our 
evening  walk  alongtthe  Den  which  extends  to  the  east  of  the 
town,  and  where  in  my  boyhood  I  loved  to  wander,  when  on 
occasional  visits  to  a  near  relive  at  Denmill,  during  the 
short  holidays  then  allowed  at  the  Academy  of  Montrose. 
During  the  daytime  I  wandered  up  and  down  the  ravine  in 
golden  reveries,  building  mystic  shrines  and  gossamer ''  castles 
in  the  air,"  and  wondering  whether  in  after-life  my  youthful 
dreams  would  ever  be  realised. 

The  sweet  little  bum  called  the  Garie  takes  its  rise  in  the 


I 
I 


KIRRIEMUIR.  485 

loch  of  Kinnordy,  and  runs  with  a  pleasant  sound  through  the 
den.  An  excavation,  or  cave,  in  the  red  rock  on  the  north 
bank  of  the  stream,  is  called  "  The  King's  Chamber/'  beside 
which  I  often  mused  in  dreamy  reflectiveness.  What  was  the 
origin  of  the  name ;  and  what  legend  or  tradition  associated 
with  it,  could  unravel  somewhat  of  its  history,  were  questions 
more  easily  put  than  answered.  My  grandfather  voted  it  a 
myth;  but  the  fact  was,  the  shrewd  old  man  was,  for  once, 
quite  at  fault,  for  all  his  ingenuity  completely  failed  to  give 
an  ordinary  or  extraordinary  solution  of  the  mystery. 

Left,  therefore,  entirely  to  my  own  resources,  it  was  my 
delight  to  produce  and  reproduce  all  sorts  of  legendary 
fancies,  quite  satisfactory  to  myself  if  not  to  others.  Taken  in 
connection  with  the  admitted  facts,  that  the  lonely  den  was  the 
chosen  resort  of  the  Spunkies,  and  that  the  neighbouring  farm 
of  Glasswell  was  nightly  haunted  by  ghosts  and  hobgoblins,  I 
came  at  last  to  the  sage  conclusion,  that  as  the  elfins  and 
fairies  were  presided  over  and  ruled  by  a  queen,  the  cave  in  the 
rock  had  been,  and  was  the  presence-chamber  of  the  King  of 
the  Evil  Spirits,  where  he,  in  royal  state,  gave  audiences  to  his 
mythical  subjects,  and  from  whence  were  promulgated  those 
terrible  fiats  of  vengeance  and  destruction,  which  made  men's 
hearts  to  quake  with  fear,  and  the  material  world  to  upheave 
in  volcanic  throes  of  expiring  dissolution  ! 

In  the  gloaming  the  good  old  man  invariably  accompanied 
me,  and  with  his  warm  hand  in  mine,  would  relate  with  dra- 
matic power,  as  we  went  along,  the  mystic  stories  of  bygone 
days ; — of  fairies  in  their  robes  of  green  at  their  wild  incanta- 
tions beneath  the  silvery  beams  of  the  harvest  moon ;  of 
spunkies  and  waterkelpies,  brownies  and  witches,  each  at  his 
or  her  particular  vocation ;  of  love-sick  swains  and  broken- 
hearted maids ;  making  me  tremble,  and  laugh,  and  weep  by 
turns,  till  my  young  heart  beat  high  with  feelings  strange  and 
new,  and  my  innermost  soul  was  deeply  stirred  alternately 
with  gushing  joy  or  pensive  sorrow,  emotions  which,  at  this 
distance  of  time,  are  as  fresh  and  strong  as  when  at  first 


486  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

they  threw  over  me  their  fascinating  spell  under  the  virgin 
impulses  of  pristine  youth. 

As  we  leisurely  pursue  our  way  down  the  winding  road  to 
Forfar,  let  us  pause  for  a  moment  opposite  the  prettily 
situated  farm  of  Bedford,  on  our  left.  Another  near  rehU^ive 
was  tenant  of  that  farm  in  my  hoyhood.  Tliough  duty  and 
inclination  led  me  to  devote  the  greater  part  of  my  holidays 
to  Glamis,  I  never  failed  to  set  aside  a  few  days  to  spend  with 
my  aunt — the  *■  Flower  of  Brigton  *' — at  Bedford ;  and  these  I 
divided,  as  best  I  could,  with  my  old  maternal  grandfather  at 
DenmilL  The  farm-house  and  steading  remain  the  same,  but 
what  was  the  sweetest  and  most  interesting  feature  in  the 
landscape,  has  disappeared. 

You  see  that  triangular  field  immediately  to  the  left  of  the 
bye-road  leading  up  to  the  farm,  now  waving  in  all  the 
golden  luxuriance  of  autumnal  beauty  ?  It  was  not  always  so. 
In  my  boyhood,  that  now  rustling  field  of  com  fast  ripening 
for  the  scythe  of  the  reaper,  was  covered  with  a  beautiful 
plantation  of  silver  fir,  whose  fair  spreading  branches  were 
vocal  in  spring  with  the  melody  of  birds,  and  whose  winding 
walks  were  redolent  in  summer  with  the  balmy  perfume  of  a 
thousand  flowers.  Many  a  bright  summer  day  have  I 
wandered  alone  in  that  sylvan  wood,  now  penetrating  into  its 
inmost  recesses,  anon  reclining  on  some  mossy  bank,  the  sweet 
choristers  of  Nat  a  re  attuning  the  tender  heart-strings  of  my 
viigin  harp  to  the  minstrelsy  of  the  sky  I  How  sweet  on  the 
calm  Sabbath  morning  to  walk  from  the  smiling  farmstead 
through  this  fir-scented  planting  to  the  distant  church,  sur- 
rounded with  an  atmosphere  of  love,  and  purity  and  holy  joy ! 
How  refreshing  its  pleasant  shade,  when,  after  leaving  the 
white  and  dusty  road,  we  again,  after  sermon  by  the  good  Dr. 
Easton,  entered  its  green  o'ershadowed  pathway  welcomed 
back  by  the  bursting  melody  of  the  happy  birds,  whose  gushing 
strains  seemed  the  more  ravishingly  joyous  because  of  our 
return  I 

And  now — all  is  gone!    If  I  can  never  foiget  the  spring- 


KIRRIEMUIR.  487 

flash  of  happiness  ministered  to  mj  ripening  heart  by  that 
solitary  wood  of  silver-fir,  so,  also,  can  I  never  forget  those 
belings  of  sadness  and  of  pain,  when,  after  an  absence 
of  many  long  years,  I  sought  in  vain  for  my  favourite 
hiunts  in  one  of  the  most  dearly  cherished  scenes  of  my  early 
youth. 

Some  time  or  other,  dear  reader — it  may  be  soon — weeping 
eyes  will  look  in  vain  for  the  landmarks  of  our  existence ; 
md  loving  hearts  will  mourn  our  exit  hence,  the  more  deeply 
i.nd  the  more  sadly,  insomuch  as  we  have  imperceptibly  evapor- 
ated like  a  gossamer  dissolving  view,  leaving  not  a  memory 
behind.  Be  it  ours  then  to  fulfil  our  proper  destiny,  by  striv- 
ing to  develop  to  full  fruition,  those  precious  gifts  with  which 
a  gracious  God  may  have  endowed  us,  and  husbanding 
those  blessed  opportunities  for  doing  good,  which  a  kind 
Providence  may  have  combined  with  our  social  positions  in 
life.  True,  we  cannot  all  aspire  to  be  statesmen,  philosophers, 
or  poets,  but  each  can  do  something,  however  infinitessimally 
small,  to  promote  the  general  weal  of  the  Commonwealth,  and 
thereby  accelerate  the  advent  of  that  happy  era  in  the  world's 
history,  when  moral  and  Christian  enlightenment  shall  flow 
down  our  streets  like  a  stream,  and  righteousness  as  a  mighty 
river. 


r 


CHAPTER   XLIV. 

THE  CASTLE  OF  FORFAR. 

"  The  castell  of  Forfar  was  then, 
Stuffit  all  with  Englishmen." 

Barbour. 

The  old  castle  of  Forfar  was  of  great  but  uncertain  antiquity. 
All  vestiges  of  the  original  building  have  long  since  disap- 
pearedy  and  with  them  all  record  of  the  date  of  its  erection,  or 
the  particular  form  of  the  structure  itself.    Boyce  says  that 
Forfar  had  a  castle  at  the  time  of  the  Eoman  invasion  under 
Agricola,  which  is  considered  to  be  altogether  apocryphal 
The  castle,  however,  is  recorded  to  have  been  the  scene  of  the 
parliament  which  was  held  in  the  year  1057,  by  Malcolm 
Canmore  after  the  recovery  of  his  kingdom  from  the  usurpa- 
tion of  Macbeth,  and  in  which  surnames  and  titles  were  first 
conferred  on  the  Scottish  nobility.     It  is  quite  certain  that 
within  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  after  the  death  of  that 
King,  Bobert  de  Quincy  made  over  to  Roger  de  Argenten 
what  he  designates,  "my  place  of  the  old  castle  of  Forfar, 
which  our  Lord  King  William  gave  to  me  in  lieu  of  a  toft,  to 
be  held  of  me  and  my  heirs  by  him  and  his  heirs,  well  and 
peacefully,  freely  and  quietly. "    (Reg.  Prioratus  S.  Andrae). 
It  is  evident  from  this  charter,  that  there  must  then  have 
been  more  than  one  castle  at  Forfar ;  and  this  view  is  con- 
firmed by  Boyce  (Hollinshed's  Chron.)  who  says,  that  Forfar 
was  *'  strengthened  with  two  roiall  castles  as,  (he  continues) 
the  ruins  doo  yet  declare. " 

It  is  supposed  that  the  old  castle  given  over  by  De  Quincy 
was  that  of  Eang  Malcolm,  which  tradition  states  to  have  stood 


THE  CASTLE  OF  FORFAR.  489 

Upon  an  island  on  the  north  side  of  the  loch,  called  Queen 
Margarets  Inchy  and  that  it  was  there  King  Malcolm  held  his 
first  parliament,  as  already  noted.  The  more  recent  castle 
would,  on  this  hypothesis,  have  been  the  one  that  stood  on  the 
rising  ground  to  the  north  of  the  town,  called  the  Castlehill, 
some  traces  of  which  existed  down  to  the  end  of  the  last 
century.  William  the  Lion  held  a  court  at  this  castle 
between  1202r7 ;  and  Alexander  I.  held  a  parliament  there  in 
person,  in  1225,  and  another  in  1227,  but  from  which  the 
king  was  absent. 

King  Edward  and  his  retinue  entered  Forfar  on  Tuesday 
the  3d  of  July  1296,  and  resided  in  the  castle  until  Friday 
the  6th.  It  would  appear,  however,  that  during  the  English 
monarch's  stay  at  Forfar,  only  two  churchmen  and  four 
barons  from  various  parts  of  the  kingdom  went  there  and 
owned  his  superiority  over  Scotland.  After  Edward's  depar- 
ture, it  was  held  by  Brian  Fitzadam,  one  of  his  retainers,  from 
whom  it  was  captured  by  Sir  William  Wallace.  It  soon  fell 
again  into  the  hands  of  the  English,  who  kept  possession  of 
the  fort  until  its  re-capture  by  Robert  the  Bruce. 

Barbour  assigns  the  merit  of  this  capture  to  Philip,  the 
forester  of  Platane,  near  Finhaven : — 

*'  The  caaieU  of  Forfar  was  then 
Stuffit  all  with  Englishmen, 
But  Philip  the  forestar  of  Platane 
Has  of  his  frendis  with  him  tane, 
And  with  ledderis  all  prevely 
Till  the  castell  he  can  him  hj, 
And  clam  out  our  the  wall  of  stane, 
And  saget  has  the  oastell  tain 
Throu  fait  of  wach  with  litiU  pan 
And  syn  all  that  he  fand  his  slane. 
Syn  yhald  the  oastell  to  the  King, 
That  mad  him  richt  gude  rewarding, 
And  syn  gert  brek  down  the  wall, 
And  fordid  the  castell  aU. 
And  all  the  towns  tumlit  war 
Down  tiU  the  erd  "— 

The    castle,  thus   so  completely  demolished,   was   never 


490  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

rebuilt,  and  the  court  afterwards  resided,  on  its  occasional 
visits  to  the  neighbourhood,  either  at  the  Castle  of  Glands,  or 
at  the  Priory  of  Rostinoth.  As  not  a  vestige  now  remains  of 
this  fort  on  the  Castlehill,  no  conception  can  be  formed  of  its 
elevation  or  extent  The  only  representations  of  one  or  other 
of  these  ancient  castles  which  now  exist  are  the  figure  cut  upon 
the  top  of  the  old  market  cross,  and  the  device  which  forms 
the  common  seal  of  the  burgh.  These  devices,  however, 
apparently  only  give  a  representation  of  a  very  inconsiderable 
portion  of  what  originally  must  have  been  a  very  palatial  and 
extensive  stronghold.  Like  the  burghers  of  Coupar,  the 
"sutors"  of  Forfar  seem  to  have  turned  the  ruins  of  the 
ancient  edifice  into  a  quarry,  for  it  furnished  them  with  the 
materials,  it  is  affirmed,  for  the  building  of  the  old  steeple, 
the  west  enti;y  to  the  old  church,  and  a  large  portion  of  the 
houses  which  formed  the  streets  of  the  old  county  town ! 

Not  a  legend  or  tradition  have  I  been  able  to  trace  in  con- 
nection either  with  the  castle  on  St  Margaret's  Inch,  or  the 
more  kingly  residence  and  stronghold  on  the  castle  hilL  This 
is  the  more  remarkable  as  interesting  memorials  of  rojai 
residences  poetically  survive  in  the  names  of  some  localities, 
such  as,  the  King's  muir,  the  Queen's  well,  the  Queen's  manor, 
the  Palace  dykes,  and  the  Court  road ;  and  in  the  vicinity,  the 
King's  bum,  the  King's  seat,  and  the  Wolf  law  where  the 
nobles  were  wont  to  meet  for  hunting  the  wolf.  Some  bronze 
celts  and  cabinet  ornaments,  preserved  in  the  Museum  of  the 
Society  of  Antiquaries  of  Scotland ;  and  a  few  warlike  swords 
and  battle  axes,  in  Glamis  Castle,  are  all  that  remain  to 
posterity  of  the  royal  palaces  and  castles  of  Forfar.  Even  the 
traditionary  story  of  the  armour  found  in  the  loch  as  being 
that  of  the  murderers  of  Malcolm  II.,  is  rudely  falsified  by  the 
more  prosaic  probability,  that  the  swords  and  battle-axes  had 
rather  belonged  to  the  soldiers  who  fell  at  the  capture  of  the 
Castle  of  Forfar  in  1308. 

Disappointed  by  the  paucity  of  legendary  lore,  we  must  he 
content  to  note  the  more  prosaic  yet  not  less  interesting 


THB  CASTLE  OF  FORFAB.  491 

historical  facts.  The  first  record  of  these  is  undoubtedly  due 
to  the  liberality  of  the  brothers  Strang,  merchants  in  Stock- 
holm, and  natives  of  Forfar,  who,  in  1657  presented  to  the 
town  three  very  handsome  bells,  of  which  the  citizens  are 
justly  proud.  They  were  originally  hung  in  the  old  crazy 
tower  which,  until  1814,  occupied  the  site  of  the  present  hand- 
some steeple,  to  which  they  were  then  with  all  due  formality 
transferred.  The  inscriptions  on  the  largest  of  the  three  beUs 
is  worth  transcribing :  viz — 

"  This  Bell  is  pbrfectted  and  Augmented  by 
William  Strang  and  his  wyfe  Margret  Pattillo  in  Stockholm 

Anno  1656.  " 
The  other  inscription  is  on  the  east  side  of  the  bell — ^viz : 

For  the  Glory  of  God 

And  LOWE  he  did  bears  to  his  native  toune, 

Hathe  ymq'  Robert  Strang,  friely  giffted  this  bell 

to  the  churche  of  the  burghe  of  forfar, 

Who  deceased  in  the  Lord  in  Stockholm  the  21  day  of  afril, 

Anno  1651. 

The  following  quotations  from  the  Evangelist  and  Psalmist, 
surround  the  rim  of  the  bell,  at  the  top  and  bottom  respec- 
tively : — 

"  Gloria  in  Excelsis  Beo 

ET  IN  TERRA  FAX  HOBnNIBUS  BONA  VOLUNTAS.      AnNO  1656.  " 

"  LaETATUS  sum  in  his  QUiE  DICTA  SUNT  MlHI  IN  DOMUM  DOMINI 

IbIMUS  StaNTES  ERANT  PEDES  NOSTRI  IN  ARTRiiS  TUIS  JERUSALEM. 

Me  fecit  oerot  msyer.  1656." 

In  the  letter  of  William  Strang  to  the  magistrates  of  Forfar 
accompanying  the  gift,  he  naively  says. — "Pay  the  skipper 
his  reasonable  fracht  for  I  behowed  to  gift  him  2  bells  for  his 
ship,  and  hous  wse  befor  he  would  grant  to  take  it  in. — Per 
skipper  whom  God  preserve. " 

Forfar  had  always  stood  firm  to  the  cause  of  Episcopacy, 
its  magistracy  and  council  boldly  protesting  when  occasion 
required  against  the  pretensions  of  the  covenanters.  In  the 
reign  of  Charles  II.   the  following  remarkable  declaration 


492  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

I 
■  ' 

against  the  legality  of  the  Solemn  League  and  Covenant,  was        4 
fulminated  from  the  Council  Chamber : —  v 

"  Wee  Protest,  Baillies,  and  Counsellers  of  the  buighe  of 
Forfar,  under  subscryvand  and  evry  ane  of  Ws  Doe  sincerly 
aflBrme  and  declaire  That  we  judge  it  wniawfull  To  subjects 
vpon  pretence  of  reformatione  or  other  pretence  whatsoever, 
To  enter  into  Leagues  and  Covenants,  or  to  take  vp  armes 
aganest  the  King  or  theise  commissionated  by  him.  And  all  ^ 
theise  gatherings,  conwocations,  petitiones,  protestationes,  and 
erecting  and  keiping  of  counsell  tables,  that  wore  used  in  the 
beginning,  and  for  careing  on  of  the  late  troubles,  wer  wnlaw- 
fuU  and  seditious ;  And  particularlie  that  theise  oathes  wherof 
the  one  was  comonlie  called  The  Naiionall  Covenatd  (as  it  wes 
swome  and  explained  in  the  j°^  vj^  and  thirtie  eight,  and 
therefter,  and  the  vther  entituled  A  Sdemne  League  and 
Covenant,  wer  and  are  in  themselfes  unlawful  oaths,  and  wer 
taken  by,  and  imposed  vpone,  the  svbjects  of  this  kingdome 
aganest  the  foundamentale  Laws  and  Liberties  of  the  same : 
And  that  ther  lyeth  no  obligations  vpone  ws  or  any  of  the 
subjects  irom  the  saids  oathes,  or  aither  of  them,  to  endeavoure 
any  change  or  alteratione  of  the  government,  aither  in  churcbe 
or  state,  as  it  is  now  established  by  the  Lawes  of  this  King- 
dom :  In  witnes  whereof  wee  put  owr  handis  heirto  att  For- 
far this  tuentie  one  day  of  December  j™  vj«  thriescore  thrie 
yeares. 

Charles  Dickeson,  prouest.  Jhone  Morgan. 

T.  Guthrie,  bailie.  Th.  Benny,  consoler. 

CHARL,psTHORNTOUNE,balzie-  Mr.  William  Suttie,  cown- 

A.  Scott,  counseller.  cellar. 

Da.  Dickson,  counseller.  H.  Cuthbert,  coonceller. 

James  Benny,  counseller.  Johne  Airth,  Js.  Browne,  jr. 

Kg.  Hood,  counsellar.  John  Cook,  Jhon  Brandore. 
James  Benny,  counsellor. 

The  "  Sutors  "  of  Forfar  are  equally  distinguished  in  ancient 
annals  as  those  of  their  neighbours,  the  "  Weavers  "  of  Kirrie- 


THE  CASTLE  OF  FORFAR.  493 

muir.  Their  pett j  feuds,  and  the  stinging  satire  of  Drummond 
of  Hawthomden,  thereanent,  have  already  been  alluded  to  in 
the  preceding  chapter.  At  what  period  the  manufacture  of 
shoes  or  "brogues"  was  introduced  into  Forfar  has  not  been 
very  accurately  ascertained,  but  it  must  at  all  events  have  been 
a  considerable  time  before  the  visit  of  Drummond  in  1645. 
The  learned  Dr.  Arthur  Johnstone  in  his  Poemata,  1642, 
assigns  to  the  trade  a  fabulous  antiquity,  as  appears  from  the 
following  translation  given  by  Jervise,  in  his  "Memorials  of 
Angus  and  Mearns"  : — 

"  The  mines  of  a  Palace  thee  decora, 

A  fhiitfuU  Lake,  and  froitfuU  Land  much  more, 

Thy  Pracincts  (it's  confest)  much  straitened  be, 

Yet  ancient  Scotland  did  give  Power  to  thee : 

Angus  and  other  places  of  the  Land, 

Yeeld  to  thy  Jurisdiction  and  Command, 

Nobles  unto  the  People  Laws  do  give, 

By  Handy -Crafts  the  vulgar  sort  do  Uto. 

They  pull  of  Bullock's-hydes  and  make  them  meet 

When  tanned,  to  cover  handsome  Virgin's  feet : 

From  thee  are  Sandals  to  light  Umbrians  sent, 

And  soils  with  latchets  to  Rope-Climbers  lent : 

And  RuUions  werewith  the  Bowrs  do  go 

To  Keep  their  feet  unhurt  with  Yce  and  Snow. 

The  ancient  Greeks  their  Boots  from  this  Town  brought 

And  also  hence  their  Laidies  slippers  sought. 

This  the  Tragedians  did  with  Buskings  fit, 

And  the  Commedian-shooes  invented  it. 

Let  not  Rome  heneeforth  of  its  Puissance  boast 

Nor  Spartans  vaunt  much  of  their  warlick-host : 
They  laid  their  yoak  on  necks  of  other  Lands 
Farfar  doth  tye  their  feet  and  leggs  with  bands." 

Dr.  Jamieson,  the  learned  compiler  of  the  Scottish  Diction- 
ary, resided  for  seventeen  years  in  Forfar,  during  which  time 
from  1780  to  1797,  he  was  pastor  of  the  Anti-burgher  congre- 
gation there,  and — 

"  Living  blest  on  Fifty  pounds  a  year." 

During  his  residence  in  Forfar  he  enjoyed  the  society  and 
friendship  of  Mr.  George  Dempster  of  Dunnichen,  at  whose 
hospitable  board  he  formed  the  acquaintance  of  Grim  Thorkeliu, 


494      STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

professor  of  Antiquities  at  Copenhagen.  The  learned  anti- 
quary had  noted  the  similarity  of  many  purely  Gothic  words 
then  spoken  in  Forfarshire,  with  the  Icelandic  idiom,  and  from 
this  hint  the  Doctor  formed  the  resolution  of  writing  a  Diction- 
ary of  the  Scottish  language. 

Some  valuable  paintings  adorn  the  County  Hall  of  Forfar, 
embracing  excellent  portraits  of  the  hero  of  Camperdown; 
Dempster  of  Dunnichenj  Scott  of  Dunninald;  and  Henry 
Dundas,  Lord  Melville.  At  a  county  dinner,  shortly  after  the 
picture  of  the  famous  Tory,  Dundas,  had  been  hung  up  in  the 
hall,  the  late  Lord  Panmure  a  zealous  adherent  of  the  whig 
party,  in  a  frolicsome  mood  applied  a  lighted  taper  to  the 
portrait.  The  picture  did  not  sustain  much  injury,  but  the 
incident  gave  rise  to  the  following  stinging  satire  by  the 
Honourable  Miss  Wortley,  whose  relations  were  of  the  same 
politics  as  Dundas : — 

«  To  Tent  hiB  spleen  on  Mxlville*8  patriot  name, 
Maule  gave  his  pictore  to  the  ruthless  flame ; 
Nor  knew  that  this  was  Mslvillb's  fame  to  raise — 
Censure  from  Mauls  is  Melville's  greatest  praise. 

At  Black  Dykes,  and  Haerfaulds,  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Forfar,  there  are  traceable  remains  of  two  Roman  Camps. 
Between  these,  and  at  a  distance  of  about  a  mile  and  a  half 
east  from  Forfar,  are  the  extensive  remains  of  another  camp, 
by  some  alleged  to  be  of  Koman,  and  by  others  of  Pictish 
origin.  It  is  supposed,  that  anciently  a  fosse  extended  from 
the  Loch  of  Forfar  to  that  of  Eestennet,  and  Dr.  Jamieson  is 
of  opinion, — "  that  the  ditch  and  the  rampart  had  been  cast 
by  the  Picts  under  Feredith,  for  guarding  their  camp  against 
the  attack  from  the  Scots  under  Alpin,  before  the  battle  of 
Eestennet"  Ruins  of  a  priory  still  exist  at  Restennet. 
This  priory  was  connected  with  the  Abbey  of  Jedbuigh,  and 
the  charters  and  other  important  documents  of  that  Abbey 
were  deposited  for  safety  at  Restennet  Spottiswoode  says, 
that  about  the  year  697,  one  Boniface,  an  Italian,  came  to 
Scotland,  where  he  erected  several  churches,  one  near  the  mouth 


THE  CASTLE  OF  FORFAR.  495 

of  the  Tay,  a  second  at  Tealing,  and  a  third  at  Restennet 
According  to  Boece,  Fergus  had  appointed  lona  to  be  a  re- 
pository for  the  public  records,  but  that  Alexander  I.,  on  account 
of  the  great  difficulty  of  the  access  to  lona,  had  caused  our 
annals  to  be  transported  to  the  Priory  of  Restennet  in  Angus. 
From  the  Prior  of  Restennet,  the  magistrates  and  town-council 
of  Forfar  purchased  the  right  of  patronage  to  Forfar-Restennet 
in  1652,  for  the  sum  of  2250  merks  Scots. 

In  1643,  the  glebe  of  Forfar-Restennet,  or  more  properly — 
Rostinoth-Forfar,  was  removed  nearer  to  the  town,  and,  in 
lieu  of  the  glebe  allotted  to  the  then  incumbent  Mr.  Thomas 
Pierson,  from  the  lands  of  Restennet,  he  had,  as  given  by  Jervise 
from  archives  of  Burgh, — "All  and  heall  that  craft  of  arribill 
land  callit  the  Bread  croft  lyand  within  the  territorie  of  the 
said  burgh  of  Forfar,  betwixt  the  lands  of  William  Scott  at 
ye  wast,  the  lands  of  Jhon  Morgoun  on  the  east,  the  Ferrie- 
toun  fields  on  the  south,  an  the  Kings  gait  ledand  to  Dundie 
at  the  north  pairts.  Extending  to  four  ackers  of  arrabill  land 
or  thairby,  to  be  holden  in  frie  burgage  and  heretage  for  ye 
yeirlie  payment  of  the  Kings  meall  and  wthors  common  anuells 
and  debbit  furth  yrof  of  befoir,  by  the  said  Mr.  Thomas  Pierson, 
and  his  successors,  ministers,  serueing  the  kirk  and  cuir  y'of 
as  a  constant  gleib  to  him  and  them  in  all  time  coming.'' 

Misinterpreting,  or  rather  interpreting  too  literally,  the 
words  in  Exodus — "  Thou  shalt  not  suffer  a  witch  to  live," 
James  YI.  promulgated  his  celebrated  statute  for  the  punish- 
ment  of  witches.  Forfar,  like  many  other  towns  in  Scotland, 
had  her  due  share  of  the  disgrace  attendant  upon  the  rigorous 
enforcement  of  this  barbarous  decree.  The  last  execution  for 
witchcraft  which  took  place  at  Forfar,  seems  to  have  been 
about  the  year  1682.  By  a  special  Commission  appointed  by 
the  Crown  in  1661,  it  was  decreed  that "  persones  jimprisoned 
for  witchcraft  shall  have  no  watch  with  them  jn  ther  prisones, 
nor  fyre  nor  candle,  but  that  sex  men 'nightly  and  dayly 
attend  and  watch  them  jn  the  vper  tolbooth,  and  that  the 
quartermaster  shall  order  the  watchmen  to  visit  them  at  every 


496  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LBGENBa 

three  houres  end  night  and  day."  The  "Witches  Howe,* 
where  these  poor  creatures  were  put  to  death  is  situate  a 
little  north  of  the  town,  but  is  now  occupied  by  works  of 
industry  and  commerce.  The  branks  or  witches  bridlcsy 
however,  is  still  preserved  in  the  county  hall.  It  is  a  small 
circle  of  iron,  consisting  of  four  parts,  connected  by  hinges, 
and  adapted  as  a  collar  for  the  neck.  Behind  is  a  short  chaiiiy 
and  in  front,  pointing  inwards,  is  a  gag  which  entered  the 
mouth,  and  pressed  down  the  tongue  for  preventing  speech  or 
cries  amidst  the  tortures  of  the  flames.  This  infamous 
instrument  was  usually  found  amongst  the  mingled  ashes  of 
the  body  and  the  faggots,  after  the  infernal  incremation  was 
over. 

Shortly  after  the  last  execution  for  witchcraft,  the  town 
and  neighbourhood  of  Forfar,  was  the  stirring  scene  of  a  raid, 
or  foray,  between  the  Farquharsons  and  the  M'Comies,  two 
brave,  yet  revengeful  Highland  clans ;  the  former  of  Broch- 
darg  in  Glenshee,  and  the  latter  of  Forther  in  Glenisla.  The 
immediate  cause  of  quarrel  seems  to  have  been  a  dispute  in 
regard  to  a  right  of  forestry  in  the  forest  of  Glascorie.  As 
usual  in  those  days,  a  fatal  conflict  was  the  consequence. 
The  opposing  parties  met  near  the  muir  of  Forfar,  on  the  28th 
of  January  1673.  In  the  encounter  M*Comie  was  severely 
wounded,  the  same  shot  killing  his  brother  Eobert,  while 
ultimately  the  Farquharsons,  savagely  despatched  John  "  with 
their  durks  and  swords.''  Brochdarg,  afraid  of  the  con- 
sequences to  himself,  precipitately  took  flight,  but  the 
M*Comies  pursuing,  soon  overtook  him,  and  killed  him  in 
cold  blood  at  the  extremity  of  the  moss.  Those  who  survived 
the  fight  were  all  outlawed. 

Traditional  stories  of  this  conflict  at  Forfar,  are  still  fresh 
and  rife  in  Glenshee,  and  Glenisla,  in  which  the  great 
personal  strength  and  gallantry  of  the  M^Comies  are  dwelt 
upon  with  the  greatest  enthusiasm.  The  chief  of  the  clan 
was  named  "  The  big  M*Comie."  He  delighted  in  wielding 
the  claymore,  and  in  popular  feats  of  strength,  such  as 


THE  CASTLE  OP  FORFAR.  497 

"Putting  the  Stone,"  "Throwing  the  Hammer,"  and  other 
Highland  games,  where  great  miLscolar  power  was  indis- 
pensable to  secure  success. 

His  natural  daring  and  nndannted  courage,  M'Gomie 
sedulously  endeavoured  to  impart  to  his  seven  sons,  the 
eldest  of  whom  he  supposed  to  have  inherited  the  least  of  the 
courageous  spirit  of  his  ancestors.  For  the  purpose  of  testing 
his  powers,  Mr  Jervise  graphically  relates,  that  "  the  old  man 
waylaid  him  one  dark  night,  at  a  large  stone  in  the  solitude 
of  Glenba3mie,  known  at  this  day  as  "  M*Comi^s  Chair,*'  and 
pouncing  upon  him  unawares,  a  dreadful  tulzie  took  place 
between  the  father  and  the  son.  The  father,  finding  his  son's 
strength  and  courage  fully  a  match  for  his  own,  at  length 
discovered  himself,  upon  which  his  astonished  son  is  said  to 
have  allowed  the  sword  to  drop  insensibly  from  his  hand.'' 

A  favourite  resort  of  the  old  highlander  was  Camlochan,  or 
"the  Crooked  loch,"  a  beautiful  sequestered  spot  on  his 
property  in  Glenisla.  Here,  he  is  said  to  have-  had  frequent 
interviews  with  a  Mermaid,  who  revealed  some  wonderful 
stories  to  him;  and  on  one  occasion,  like  "witch  Maggie," 
with  Tam  o'  Shanter,  it  is  traditionised,  "that  she  took 
advantage  of  his  horse  in  a  trip  down  Glenisla,  by  leaping  on 
behind  him  ! " 

The  big  M^Comie  was  a  severe  disciplinarian,  and  the 
Cateran  whom  he  ruled  with  despotic  sway,  instead  of 
lamenting  his  death,  regarded  that  event  as  a  happy  deliver- 
ance from  his  tyranny.  One  of  the  clan  returning  from  the 
Lowlands  at  the  time,  on  being  asked  the  usual  question — 
"What  News?"  with  great  rapture  exclaimed — "What 
News )  News !  and  good  news !  Blessed  be  the  Virgin 
Mary  1  The  great  M'Comie  in  the  head  of  the  Lowlands  is 
dead,  for  as  big  and  strong  as  he  was ! " 


2l 


I 


f 

I 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

THE  VILLAGE   CLUB, — 1870. 

"  A  change  we  haye  found  there  and  many  a  change. 
Faces  and  footsteps  and  all  things  strange  !  '* 

Mn  ffemam. 

On  the  morning  of  Auld  Yule,  1870,  one,  who  had  been  long 
absent  from  these  parts,  might  have  been  seen  emerging  from 
the  Lowlands  at  the  Sidlaw  Hills,  and  taking  his  solitary  way 
to  the  Glen  of  Ogilvy  in  the  direction  of  Glamis.  Although 
past  the  meridian  of  life,  scarcely  a  grey  hair  yet  silvered  his 
forehead ;  the  bloom  of  health  was  on  his  cheek,  the  light  of 
intelligence  beamed  in  his  eye,  and  his  step  was  as  firm  and  | 
elastic  as  in  the  days  of  his  sunny  youth.  ' 

As  the  well-remembered  scene  burst  suddenly  upon  his 
view  he  paused  on  the  verge  of  the  Sidlaws  overlooking  the  wild 
yet  peaceful  glen,  with  the  feelings  of  one  who  had  just  left 
the  outer  world  behind  and  entered  a  sequestered  Elysium  of 
quiet  rest  and  peace.  Was  it  so  ?  Alas !  no  resting-place 
for  the  foot  of  the  weary  wanderer  but  that  of  the  ancient 
churchyard  of  his  fathers,  to  which  he  was  now  instinctively 
approachingt  With  tearful  eye  he  looked  round  on  the  once 
familiar  scene.  Here  was  Drybums  at  his  feet ;  there  was 
the  Milton  in  the  centre  of  the  glen,  and  Middleton  and  Wood- 
end  to  the  north ;  with  little  and  myckle  Kilmundie  in  the 
far  east,  and  reposing,  as  of  old,  under  the  shadow  of  the 
Hunter  Hill,  the  mill  and  farm  of  Aimiefoul,  with  the 
mountain  rivulet  still  meandering  through  the  glen  with  its 
unforgotten  silver  sound,  just  as  it  leaped  and  babbled  in  the 
days  of  yore.  But  where  were  the  dwellers  of  the  glen  in  his 
early  youth  ?  where  the  loved  friends^  the  dear  companions  of 


m^ 


THE  VILLAGE  GLUR  499 

his  boyhood )  where  the  sweet  meny  voices  that  once  stirred  to 
its  deepest  core  the  golden  harp-strings  of  his  young  and 
innocent  heart  %  All,  all  were  gone — "  the  once  familiar 
faces."  Hushed  for  ever  on  this  earth  the  dearly  cherished 
voices  he  once  loved,  and  still,  in  his  memory,  loves  so 
well 

He  had  now  reached  the  very  spot  where  his  venerated 
parent  had  bade  him  farewell  on  his  leaving  the  home  of  his 
fathers  to  fight  the  battle  of  life  in  the  great  restless  world 
beyond.  Had  the  visions  of  fame  which  then  flitted  across 
his  youthful  vision  like  the  golden  dreams  of  a  blissful 
Elysium  been  in  part,  or  in  full  realized  %  Realized  or  not, 
the  healthy  pulsations  of  his  heart  beat  true,  as  they  ever  had 
done,  to  the  dearly  cherished  scenes  of  his  early  youth ;  and 
the  words  he  had  uttered  a  decade  of  life  before,  he  could, 
with  as  much  truth  and  warmth  of  feeling,  utter  now : — 

Dear  spot  I  thoagh  changed  to  me  thou  be, 
My  wandering  thoughts  stiU  turn  to  thee, 
Olad  picturing  bright  the  happy  scene 
Of  children's  gambols  on  the  green ; 
When  all  was  beautiful  around, 
That  e'er  to  me  loved,  sacred  ground. 

Oh  I  when  amidst  the  city's  throng, 
I  ne'er  forgot  my  boyhood  song ; 
When  dttloet  music  strove  to  please, 
It  brought  to  mind  the  swelling  breese, 
Which,  rushing,  swept  my  native  glen. 
And  tuned  my  mimic  hatp  again. 
When  vacant  laughter,  shouts  of  joy, 
Bewildered  wild  the  rustic  boy, 
I  timid  thought  of  foaming  floods,         ^ 
Of  maiden's  songs,  and  summer  woods. 

My  native  glen  !  my  heart's  been  thine. 
Through  all  this  chequered  life  of  mine ; 
When  fortune  swelled  the  prosperous  gale. 
Or  fate  low  howled  her  shuddering  wail ; 
When  friendship  burned  without  alloy, 
Or  did  its  devotees  destroy ; 
When  first  leve  thriUed  its  magic  tone. 


500  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AKD  LEGENDS. 

Or  charmed  the  cold  fake-hearted  one ; 
When  children's  bleat  sweet  Toices  rung. 
Or  sad,  bereaved,  the  bosom  wrung ; 

Throughout  each  scene  of  grief  or  joy. 
In  manhood's  prime  as  when  a  boy, 
I  loved  with  thee  in  thought  to  be. 
My  wearied  heart  e'er  turned  to  thee  ! 

Village  Seenet, 

He  now  in  sadness  mused  by  the  old  homestead   and 
"  Ancient  Mill : '»— 

There  stood  the  house,  the  old  apple  tree, 

In  age  with  grey  branches  adorning ; 
And  there  in  the  gable  his  own  little  window. 

Where  the  sun  peep*d  through  in  the  morning. 

And  there  was  the  steading,  the  stack'd  farm-yard. 

The  haughs  for  bleaching  tiie  claes  ; 
The  mill  and  the  bum,  and  the  dark  Hunter  Hill, 

The  uplands,  and  broom-covered  braes. 

It  is  said  the  dread,  unbroken  silence  which  ever  pervades 
the  vast  forests  of  the  American  continent  are  more  eloquently 
impressive  than  their  vastness  of  extent,  or  their  unrivalled 
prodigality  of  luxuriant  beauty.  And  so,  with  the  keenest 
edge  of  that  saddening  and  painfully  oppressive  feeling,  did 
the  hushed  silence  which  now  reigned  around  his  birth-place 
pierce  the  innermost  recesses  of  the  traveller's  soul,  until  a  wel- 
come flood  of  tears  obscured  from  his  vision  the  landmarks  of  his 
fathers,  as  he,  with  overpowering  emotion,  exclaimed  :  "  Oh  ! 
for  the  wings  of  a  dove,  that  I  might  flee  away  and  be  at 
rest  I " 

Having  crossed  the  bum,  our  traveller  now  took  his  way 
by  the  well-known  by-path  through  the  Hunter  Hill : — 

And  onwards,  how  sadly  !  through  oopeswood  he  wander'd. 

Yet  feeling  a  deep  solemn  joy, 
For  these  were  the  pathways,  rigsag  in  the  woodland, 

Where  rambled  he  free  when  a  boy. 

He  entered  at  last  the  village  of  Glamis  j  and,  standing  on 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUB.  601 

tbe  bridge  over  the  bum,  he  could  recognise  little,  if  any 
change  in  the  salient  points  of  the  landscape.  There  flowed, 
in  low  breathed  music  as  of  old,  the  little  mountain  rivulet, 
and  on  its  rugged  banks  the  leafless  brushwood,  and  icicle- 
bespangled  trees,  studded  like  a  woodland  terrace,  the 
romantic  base  of  the  well-known  Hunter  Hill.  Beneath, 
stretched  out  the  fondly  cherished  village  green,  alive  at  the 
moment,  with  the  rural  urchins'  happy  merriment  on  being 
let  loose  from  the  galling  restraints  of  Compound  Division, 
and  the  Eule  of  Three.  The  millwright's  shop,  and  the 
blacksmith's  shed,  still  stood  in  their  wonted  place  on 
the  right  bank  of  the  stream ;  while  further  to  the  south,  the 
ruins  of  the  old  spinning  mill  seemed  the  only  object  in  view 
on  which  the  iron  pencil  of  time  had  inscribed  the  dreaded 
word — "  Change." 

Turning  to  the  north,  the  old  romantic  meal  mill,  with  all 
its  tender  associations,  met  at  once  his  loving  gaze ;  and  the 
churchyard,  church  and  manse,  reposing  among  the  leafless 
woods,  filled  up  sympathetically,  the  receding  background 
of  the  picture.  Then  his  mind  instinctively  again  reverted 
to  the  unforgotten  past.  Fixing  his  weary  eyes  on  the  manse, 
his  thoughts  lovingly  wandered  back  to  the  many  happy 
hours  he  had  spent  in  that  sainted  dwelling,  when  the  lovely 
and  accomplished  family  of  the  venerable  Dr  Lyon  shed  a 
radiant  sunshine  over  their  peaceful  village  home  ;  until  one 
after  another  had  taken  their  solitary  way  to  the  dark  and 
silent  land  of  the  dead !  He  then  thought  of  the  learned  Dr. 
Crawford,  and  the  accomplished  Dr.  Tannoch,  the  first  regret- 
tingly  removed  from  this  peaceful  scene,  to  high  office  in  the 
Metropolitan  University ;  and  the  last,  dying  the  death  of 
the  Christian  in  that  sequestered  manse,  and  followed  to  the 
grave  by  the  lamentations  of  all  who  had  known  him  as  their 
pastor  and  friend. 

His  mind  full  of  warm  and  loving  remembrances,  and  as 
if  his  eye  had  forgotten  to  search  for  something  that  was 
lost,  he  once  more  turned  round  in  the  direction  of  the 


502  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Hunter  Hill,  and  gased  long  and  fondlj  on  some  deeply 
cheriBhed  object  that  then  met  his  view.  Ah  !  he  had  not 
foi^otten  to  look  for  what  now  so  intensely  interests  him; 
but  aware  of  the  effect  the  sight  of  it  would  have  upon  his 
sensitive  feelings,  he  had  refrained  to  the  last  from  subjecting 
them  to  the  severe  and  painftd  ordeal  of  recognition.  With 
a  heart  too  big  for  words,  with  eyes  too  full  for  tears,  he 
felt  that  some  loved  Presence  was,  unseen,  encompassing  him 
as  with  a  halo  of  celestial  brightness.  The  object^  dear 
reader,  on  which  he  so  agonizingly,  yet  lovingly  gazed,  was 
an  isolated,  lonely  dwelling  on  the  left  bank  of  the  stream, 
and  that  silent  cottage  was  once  the  home  of — ''The 
Forester's  Daughter  1 "  No  wonder,  poor  soul  I  that  he  felt 
the  extreme  bitterness  of  hopeless  grief,  for  there  was  the 
well-known  garden  in  which  EUza  had  tended  her  favourite 
flowers ;  yonder  the  little  window  where  she  had  sat  reading 
or  at  work ;  and,  fronting  the  west,  the  honeysuckle  porch 
from  whence  her  pure  and  gentle  spirit  had  passed  silently 
away  to  her  home  in  the  sky.  Had  she  lived,  how  different^ 
he  tliought,  might  his  life  have  been  ! 

Could  hb  evkb  foboet  hes  ? 

Forget  her  f  mock  me  not ;  behold 

The  everlasting  hills, 
Adown  whose  nigged  fiasuree  dash 

A  thousand  flashing  rills. 
E*en  they,  inheriting  decaj. 

Slow  moulder  though  unseen, 
But  love,  oelestial  sacred  flower. 

Is  ever  fresh  and  green. 

Forget  her !  gaze  on  that  bri^^t  Btream, 

E'er  deep'ning,  as  it  runs, 
Its  rocky  channel,  leaping  free 

In  st<Mrms  and  summer  suns. 
So  in  my  heart  of  hearts  do  years. 

As  onward  swift  they  roll. 
The  deeper  grave  in  diamond  lines^ 

Her  name  upon  my  aoul. 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUB.  503 

Forget  her  I  hast  thou  ever  lored  T 

Enow  then  love  cannot  die, 
Eternal  as  the  eternal  God 

Twill  ripen  in  the  sky. 
O  yes !  sad  drenoh'd  in  tears  on  earth. 

By  storms  and  tempests  riveni 
Twill  only  blossom  in  its  prime 

In  the  golden  air  of  Heayen  1 

The  village  of  Olamis  is  one  of  those  ancient  places  which 
change  not  with  the  lapse  of  years,  and,  therefore,  just 
because  of  its  unchangeableness,  the  more  dear  to  those  who 
have  long  been  absent  from  their  native  Strath.  While  every 
other  town  and  village  in  Scotland  has  of  late  gradually  assumed 
a  new  aspect,  Olamis  remains  almost  the  same  as  it  was  a  cen- 
tury ago.  The  only  new  houses  erected  in  this  village  during 
that  decade  of  time,  are  the  masonic  lodge  on  the  east,  and  the 
handsome  parochial  school  and  school-house  to  the  west. 
There  was  one  change,  however,  not  in  the  building  but  in 
the  occupation  thereof,  which  arrested  the  attention  of  the 
traveller.  The  old  school-house,  associated  to  many  with  the 
fondest  recollections,  was  turned  into  a  lumber  room  or 
wash-house  !  The  sight  was  too  much  for  him,  and  he  sor- 
rowfully retraced  his  footsteps  to  the  village. 

Standing  at  the  door  of  the  village  hostelrie,  the  aspect  of 
the  village  seemed  to  the  stranger  in  all  its  externals,  very 
much  the  same  as  it  was  forty  long  years  ago.  The  well 
remembered  names  over  the  shop  doors  had  disappeared,  and 
with  them  the  old  respected  traders  who  had  so  long  supplied 
the  wants  and  luxuries  of  the  villagers.  He  looked  in  vain 
for  the  name  of  the  old  hostess  over  the  door  of  the  hospitable 
inn  by  which  he  was  musing ;  it  too  had  disappeared.  He 
was  glad  to  know,  however,  she  was  still  hale  and  hearty, 
although  now  known  by  another  name  than  the  well-remem- 
bered one  of  old. 

As  he  sauntered  through  the  village,  his  mind  reverted  to 
the  many  characters  of  former  days,  who  by  their  wit  and 
sarcasm,  their  calviniBtic  enthusiasm,  and  sterling  worth,  had 


504      8TRATHM0BS :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

enlivened  and  mietde  bright  the  little  community  in  ^vrhich 
they  lived,  and  moved,  and  had  their  being.  He  ima.gmed 
he  still  beheld 

the  smith  his  hammer  plj, 
V^itii  brai^niy  ann  so  lustily. 
That  every  stroke  upheaved  the  ground, 
While  showers  of  sparks  flew  wheeling  round ; 

and,  with  fond  recollections  of  the  many  genial  hours  he  had 
spent  with  him  in  the  old  meal  mill, 

Still  seated  at  his  cottage  door, 
He  saw  the  miller  pondering  o'er, 
With  waggish  eye  and  smile  so  sleek. 
The  bargains  of  the  by-gone  week, 
Well  pleased,  he'd  added  to  his  store 
One  weighty,  well-paid  mMtr  more. 

There  goes  his  old  sarcastic  friend  the  hard-wrought,  ill- 
paid  village  postman  of  other  days : — 

With  gaucy  face  and  honest  smile, 

And  words  upright — ^no  art  or  guile, 

He's  civil,  kind,  polite  to  all. 

In  lowly  cot,  or  courtly  hall ; 

But  many  a  weary  mile  he  goes 

Through  raging  storms  and  drifting  snows, 

In  noon-day  bright  or  twilight  dim, 

By  lonely  wood  or  castle  grim, 

And  lists  the  owl's  wild  eildrich  scream, 

By  haunted  tower,  or  roaring  stream. 

And  here  comes  poor  dafl  Geordie,  the  simpleton  of  the 
village,  with  whom  the  stranger  in  his  boyish  days  had 
cracked  many  a  humorous  joke,  sometimes  to  the  discomfiture 
of  the  simpleton,  but  very  much  oftener  to  his  own  ; — 

George  long  a  denizen  had  been. 
Well  known  about  the  village  green ; 
Though  all  he  curtly  passes  by. 
Nor  aught  displays  of  courtesy, 
Yet  he  his  life  would  quickly  peril. 
To  please  the  factor  or  the  earl. 

After  these  imaginary  meetings  with  former  friends  in  his 
solitary  ramble  through  the  village,  the  stranger  entered  the 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUB,  505 

western  gate  of  the  Castle,  and  looked  long  and  wistfully 
along  the  lime-shaded  avenue  to  the  magnificent  hoary  pile 
beyond.  There  it  was,  with  its  massive  walls,  and  spacious 
courts,  its  spreading  wings  and  lofty  tower,  its  ramparts  and 
battlements,  and  cone-roofed  turrets  as  of  old.  Yet,  even 
here,  associations  were  not  wanting  personally  to  connect 
some  incidents  in  his  life  with  the  venerable  and  princely 
pile  which  proudly  seemed  to  challenge  his  right  of  relation- 
ship with  its  histoiy : — 

For  from  those  grey  embattled  towers, 

We  gazed  on  moantain,  lake  and  stream. 
On  woodlands,  meadows,  sylvan  bowers, 

All  seemed  a  fairy  sunny  dream  ; 
Till  her  sweet  voice  awoke,  dispell'd 

The  wisard  minstrelsy  of  the  past ; 
Then  first  my  youthful  heart  rebelled, 

Twas  our  first  meeting,  and — our  last. 

Retracing  his  steps,  the  stranger  walked  up  the  lane  which 
led  to  the  manse,  and  entering  the  church-yard  he  paced  slowly 
among  the  tombs,  and  the  lonely  burying-ground  would 
literally  to  him  have  been  a  land  of  silence,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  humming  voice  of  the  old  grave-digger,  as  he  dug  a 
little  grave  on  the  eastern  brow  of  the  hill  which  gently  slopes 
down  to  the  murmuring  rivulet  at  its  base. 

"  A  very  small  grave  that  you  are  digging,  my  friend,"  softly 
said  the  stranger,  to  the  hoary  sexton  of  sixty  winters. 

Eesting  from  his  work  and  looking  up  inquiringly  at  the 
speaker,  that  worthy  quaintly  replied, — **  It's  a  sma'  bit  grave 
indeed,  but  big  eneuch  to  baud  the  corp  o'  a  little  wean 
scarcely  a  year  auld,  sir." 

''  Do  you  take  as  much  pains  with  the  graves  of  the  young," 
the  stranger  asked,  *'  as  you  do  with  those  of  the  old  ) " 

"  Fat  for  no,''  was  the  rather  testy  reply,  "  the  weest 
baimie  that  dees  is  as  precious  in  God's  sicht  as  the  man  o' 
fourscore,  and  shudna'  it  be  as  precious  in  mine  ? " 

This  was  rather  a  home-thrust  to  the  stranger,  who  parried 
it  off^  however,  very  adroitly  by  immediately  putting  a  further 


506  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

question  to  the  graye-digger  of  a  totally  different  import^ 
viz: — 

''Is  your  trade  in  these  parts  in  a  healthy  state  at 
present) " 

"  Gie  middlin,  sir,"  was  the  rather  doleful  reply — "Ye  see, 
sir,  sin'  the  mosses  an'  marshes  i'  the  parish  hae  been  a' 
drained,  an'  brocht  under  cultivation  an'  a'  the  spunkies  an' 
waterkelpies  hae  disappeared,  foulks  are  livin'  langer  than 
they  used  to  do,  and  if  this  be  so,  it  stands  to  reason,  that  there 
canna  be  sae  mony  buirrils." 

''  But  the  spunkies  and  waterkelpies,"  said  the  stranger, 
''  could  not  have  been  the  cause  surely  of  the  previous  greater 
mortality  1 " 

"  No  juist  directly,"  somewhat  hesitatingly  replied  the 
sexton,  ''  but,"  he  continued,  "  the  fac'  is  as  I  hae  stated,  for 
sin'  thae  uncannie  cre'tures  hae  taen  their  departure,  there  has 
na  been  sae  mony  deeing  within  a  given  time  as  afore, 
although  my  opinion  is  that  it's  a  tempting  o'  Providence 
aifter  a'.  There  was,  for  instance,  an  auld  residentor  i'  the 
parish  deed  lately  at  the  advanced  age  o'  ninety-twa,  and  if  it 
hadna  been  for  some  illness  they  ca'  the  elic  passion,  he  micht 
hae  made  out  the  hunder  an'  been  livin  yet ! " 

"  Is  there  any  vacant  ground  that  could  be  acquired  by  my- 
self, as  my  own  burial  place  V  asked  the  stranger  with  some 
emotion. 

"  But  you're  no  deed  yet,  sir,"  sarcastically  replied  the  sex- 
ton, "  time  eneuch  to  bury  you  surely  when  you're  deed  I " 

"  But  we're  enjoined  to  prepare  for  death,"  solemnly  said 
the  stranger,  "  and  this  implies  preparation  for  the  grave." 

"  Did  you  want  the  bit  grund  for  yoursel'  ? "  reflectingly 
said  the  sexton ;  adding  after  a  short  pause — "  there's  a 
bonnie  spot  aboon  St.  Fergus'  Well  wud  suit  you  to  a  tee,  for 
in  summer-time  the  burnie  below  and  the  birdies  above  wud 
sing  to  you  frae  momin'  tae  nicht,  and  you  wud  sleep  there 
juist  as  cozily  as  in  your  ain  bed,  sir." 

''  But  in  winter  1 "  enquiringly  asked  the  stranger. 

"Ou    aye— in — ^winter" — somewhat  perplexed,  answered 


THE  YILLAGK  CLUB.  507 

the  sexton — "ye  see,  when  you're  Ijin*  there,  sir,  you'll  no 
need  to  care  whether  it  be  winter  or  no ;  an'  at  ony  rate,  the 
robin  redbreast  will  be  happin'  aboot  amang  the  leafless  bushes, 
an'  singin'  his  fareweel  sang  to  the  expirin'  year,  an'  may-be 
he'll  gather  some  o'  the  withered  leaves  that  will  be  rustlin' 
i'  the  furrows,  an*  gently  cover  your  grave  as  was  dune  to  the 
*  Babes  in  the  Wood '  in  the  days  o*  auld : — but  I  maun  get  on 
wi'  my  wark  though,  for  you  see  the  sun  is  juist  aboot  settin' 
ahint  the  Grampians,  and  the  day-licht  will  sune  gie  place  to 
the  darkness  o'  a  cauld  wintry  nicht." 

The  old  man  again  began  shovelling  the  earth  out  of  the 
little  grave,  when  all  at  once,  and  as  if  something  had  suddenly 
come  to  his  remembrance,  he  ceased  work  in  an  instant,  and 
leaning  reflectively  on  his  spade,  thus  interrogatively 
addressed  the  stranger,  who  still  lingered  in  silence  by  the 
little  grave : — 

"  Ye  kent  the  Forester's  daughter  in  your  youth  ? " 

"  You  know  me  theni "  quickly  said  the  startled  traveller. 

"  Ou  aye,"  replied  the  sexton,  "  I  kent  you  by — ^in — " 

"Intuition,"  interrupted  the  stranger. 

"  That's  it — thank  you,  sir,"  replied  the  sexton,  "  it's  a 
word  gie  aften  used  by  thae  harum-scarum  cre'tures  they  ca' 
poets,  an'  I'm  no  juist  vera  sure  what  they  mean  by  it,  but 
I  ken  my  ain  meanin'  o't,  which  is, — ^when  people  ken  things 
without  bein'  telPd  by  ony  body.  Ken  you  1  Man,  I  kent 
wha  you  wis  whenever  my  een  lichtet  on  your  face,  an'  what's 
mair  I  kent  a'  your  forbears  afore  your  day  tae." 

"  That  could  scarcely  be,"  quietly  retorted  the  stranger, 
"  for  my  ancestors  have  been  connected  with  the  parish  of 
Glamis  and  that  of  Kinnettles  for  many  centuries." 

"I  kent  a  guide  wheen  o'  them,  though,"  impatiently 
answered  the  sexton,  "an'  as  for  the  rest  o'  them, — I  hae 
heard  o'  them  at  ony  rate,  an'  that  comes  pretty  much  to  the 
same  thing  I  dar*  say  " — 

"  Did  you  know  Mr  Wood,  the  Forester  1 "  interposed  the 
stranger. 


508  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

"  Kent  Maister  Wud,  the  forester  ]  "  exclaimed  the  sex- 
ton, "Man  I  kent  him  as  weel  as  I  kenmysel' ;  an*  a  dainty, 
weel-faored,  weel-edicate  gentleman  he  was,  an'  a  great 
favourite  wi'  everybody  on  the  estate.  An'  as  for  Mrs  Wud 
she  was  a  stately,  weel-bred,  comely  woman,  an'  fit  to  be  the 
companion  o'  ony  countess  i'  the  land.  She  was  a  bom  leddie, 
sir,  an'  I  could  tell  you  something  o'  her  history  that  ye  may- 
be dinna  ken  onything  aboot." 

"  What  is  that  1 "  hastily  interrupted  the  stranger. 

"  That  she  was  a  gentlewoman  by  birth,  sir,"  replied  the 
sexton.  "  Maister  Wud,  in  his  early  youth,"  he  continued, 
"was  overseer  an'  forester  to  a  heeland  laird  i'  the  wast 
countrie,  an'  while  there  ane  o'  the  dochters  o'  the  laird  fell  in 
luve  wi'  him,  or  may  be  it  wid  be  nearer  the  truth  to  say,  that 
they  baith  fell  in  luve  wi'  ane  anither.  Fa'  in  luve  was  ae  thing, 
but  hoo  to  get  buckled  as  man  an'  wife  was  quite  anither 
thing.  Ae  thing  was  quite  clear,  an'  that  was,  that  the  heeland 
pride  o'  the  laird  wid  never  submit  to  such  a  degradation. 
So,  the  short  an  the  'lang  o'  it  is,  that  they  made  a  rin-awa 
match  o't,  an'  cam'  doon  to  the  low  countrie  to  push  their 
fortunes,  an  after  a  while  settled  at  Glamis.  That  raither 
astonishes  you,  freend,  does  it  not  ? " 

"  It  does  indeed,"  said  the  stranger,  in  a  musing  mood« 

"  But  I'm  no  dune  yet,  sir,"  quickly  continued  the  grave- 
digger;  "fouks  that  didna  ken  ony  better,  objecit  to  the 
grand  ideas  an'  fine  words  you  put  into  the  lassie's  heed,  in 
her  last  illness,  because,  said  they,  forsooth,  it  was  na  nat'ral  to 
think  that  ane  in  her  station,  could  think  sic  grand  thochts 
an'  say  sic  fine  things,  forgettin'  that  she  was  the  dochter  o'  a 
bom  leddie,  an'  the  very  image  o'  her  mother.  Eliza  was 
weel  edicate,  an'  alang  wi'  her  ain  accomplishments,  had 
inherited  the  graces,  intelligence,  an*  beauty  o'  her  mother ; 
for  puir  folk  may  say  what  they  like,  but  there's  a  certain  air 
an'  manner  connecit  wi'  gentle  blude,  that  is  very  winnin'  an' 
which  inspires  respect,  an'  is  as  different  fae  the  airs  an' 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUR  509 

manners  o'  yoar  upstart,  imitation  gentry,  as  buckram  is  fae 
camric,  or  pinckbeck  fae  fine  gold." 

"  You  seem  to  be  well  acquainted  with  the  history  of  the 
Forester  and  his  family,"  quietly  said  the  stranger. 

"  Yes,"  rejoined  the  sexton,  still  leaning  on  his  spade,  and 
fixing  his  eyes  still  more  intently  on  those  of  the  stranger, 
"  an'  the  story  o'  the  "  Forester's  Daughter,"  revived  a'  the 
memories  o'  the  past  sae  clearly,  yet  sae  sadly,  that  I  couldna 
read  o'  her  deeing  at  the  cottage  door,  without  sheddin'  mony  a 
bitter  tear  o'  sorrow,  an'  even  yet,  I  canna  read  it  without 
greetin'  like  a  bairn ; — very  affectin'  though," — continued  the 
old  man,  as,  afb^r  a  pause,  he  turned  round,  and  again  gently 
dug  his  spade  into  the  ground,  while  the  bursting  tears  stand- 
ing for  a  moment  in  his  trembling  eyelids,  at  last  ran  down 
his  furrowed  cheeks  in  a  copious  stream. 

"Nae  winder" — the  stranger  heard  him  saying,  as  if 
speaking  to  himself,  as  he  quietly  retired  from  the  scene — 
"  Nae  winder  than  he  was  half  broken-hearted  at  the  loss  o' 
his  early  love,  for  mine  wid  hae  broken  a'  thaegither,  if  it  had 
haen  the  chance.  She  was  as  bonnie  an'  sweet  a  lassie  as  ever 
trod  God's  earth — but  she  was  owre  gude  for  this  warld,  and 
so  her  Heavenly  Father  took  her  to  himseV.  We'll  soon, 
however,  meet  her  up  yonder,  where  there  is  no  sighin',  or 
sorrow,  an'  where  the  tears  will  be  wiped  away  from  every 
weeping  eye : — 

*'  A  few  short  years  of  evil  past, 
We  reach  the  happy  shore, 
Where  death-divided  friends  at  last, 
Shall  meet,  to  part  no  more.'* 

Darkness  now  set  in  and  the  beautiful  stars  were  shining 
brightly  in  the  welkin  above,  betokening  a  clear  and  frosty 
night,  the  weather  being  in  agreeable  contrast  to  the  dark 
murky  sky  and  blinding  snow-storm  of  that  well-remembered 
yule  evening  when  last  we  met  the  jocund  members  of  the 
Village  Club^  in  all  the  plenitude  of  their  glory  and  happi- 
ness. 


I 


510  BTRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

The  stranger  now  slowly  retired  from  the  churchyard,  and 
having  reached  the  village  Inn,  he  reqaested  to  be  shown  i 
upstairs  to  the  dining-roont  Hie  well-known  resort  seemed 
pretty  much  the  same  as  it  appeared  to  hinif  on  his  last 
visit.  The  table  and  chairs  stood  in  the  same  position  as  of 
old,  and,  with  the  exception  of  the  adornment  of  the  walls, 
and  the  introduction  of  gas,  no  change  was  apparent  in  the 
cherished  sanctum  of  other  years. 

Summoning  the  landlady  he  politely  asked  her  on  her 
appearance,  if  the  members  of  the  Village  Club  still  held 
their  periodical  meetings  in  that  room,  and  assembled  at  Yule 
to  make  merry  over  their  cups  as  in  the  days  of  yore  ? 

The  landlady  as  courteously  replied,  that  these  meetings 
were  principally  held  there  during  the  occupancy  of  her  pre- 
decessor, Mrs  Hendry,  but  that  she  knew  the  several  members 
very  well 

''How  many  do  you  expect  to-night f"  enquired  the 
stranger. 

"  None,"  was  the  hostess'  solemn  reply. 

"  None  1  *'  repeated  the  stranger, — "  Are  they  all  gone  I " 

"  All  gone,  sir,''  said  the  hostess. 

"  Do  I  understand  you  to  mean,  my  good  lady,  that  they 
are  all  dead  ? "  further  enquired  the  stranger. 

''  Four  of  them,  I  know,  are  dead  and  buried,"  replied  the 
good-natured  landlady — "and  as  for  the  fifth,  he  has  been  so 
long  absent  from  the  Howe,  that  we  may  safely  put  him,  I 
think,  in  the  same  black  list  too." 

"Who  died  first?"  hurriedly  asked  the  stranger — "and 
what  were  the  circumstances  attending  his  death  1 " 

"The  Laird  was  the  first  to  dee,"  said  the  landlady, 
"  because  I  suppose  he  was  the  oldest.  He  deed  as  he  had 
lived,  farming  his  ain  land,  in  the  auld  style,  and  drivin'  hard 
bargains  to  the  last  He  retained  his  quiet  pawky^  humour 
in  his  auld  age.  and  even  in  his  last  illness,  he  enjoyed  a  sly 
joke  inunensely,  firing  off  his  retorts  wi'  a'  the  vigour  o'  his 
youth," 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUB.  511 

"And  the  next!" 

"  The  Smith,"  rejoined  the  engaging  hostess ;  "  he  wasna 
lang  o'  deein'  aifter  the  laird,  wi'  whom  he  had  had  mony  a 
tulzie  about  free  will^  an'  election,  an'  the  Covenant  o'  grace. 
He  died  quite  calm,  askin'  to  be  forgiven  for  a'  the  temper  he 
had  displayed,  an'  a'  the  harsh  words  he  had  used,  in  the  many 
debates  an'  disputes  in  which  he  had  sae  often  been  engaged, 
an'  tumin'  his  face  to  the  wall,  fell  gently  asleep." 

"  Who  foUowed  him  1 " 

"  The  Miller— but  he  lived  to  a  green  old  age,  waggish  and 
jolly  to  the  last  It  was  a  treat  to  look  upon  his  happy  smiling 
face,  and  to  share  in  his  contentment,  and  enjoy  his  good 
fellowship." 

"  One  by  one  they  are  falling  through  the  bridge — ^the  last 
will  soon  follow.    Who  was  the  next  to  fall  t " 

"  The  Dominie— and  it's  only  a  few  years  ago  since  they 
buried  him  in  the  Kirkyard  o'  Kinnettlee,  for  although  he 
had  given  up  teaching  on  account  o'  the  frailties  o'  auld  age, 
an'  retired  to  Forfar  to  spend  the  evening  o'  his  days  there 
he  made  it  his  last  request  to  be  interred  beside  the  village 
where  he  had  so  long  taught  the  promising  youth  o'  the  Howe 
o'  Strathmore." 

Before  making  any  further  enquiries,  the  stranger  feelingly 
asked  his  hostess,  whether  she  was  aware, — "thsit  when  four 
were  removed  by  death,  the  surviving  member  was  bound  to 
visit  the  Club-room  in  the  village  hostelrie  every  Auld  Yule 
evening  thereafter,  so  long  as  he  was  able,  and  drink  a 
bumper  in  solemn  silence  to  the  memory  of  those  who  were 
gone ! " 

Our  hostess,  somewhat  nervelessly,  replied,  that  she  was 
aware  of  the  strange  compact^  which  she  believed  was 
not  now  likely  ever  to  implemented. 

"  This  is  the  same  table,  is  it  not,  at  which  th^  sat  1 " ex- 
citedly asked  the  stranger,  unheeding  her  reply — "place  five 
chairs  around  the  board  in  the  way  they  used  to  be  arranired 
when  the  Club  met  at  Anld  Yule — ^there,  that  will  do ^now 


512  STRATHMORE :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

bring  up  the  old  punch-bowl  filled  to  the  brim  with  the  finest 
toddy  you  can  brew : — You  have  still  the  old  china  punch- 
bowl, have  you  not  1 " 

What,  between  the  placing  of  the  chairs  to  please  the 
stranger,  and  the  number  of  questions  asked,  the  obliging 
hostess  was  put  into  a  state  of  nervous  tremour  akin  to  super- 
stitious fear,  the  reverse  of  agreeable  to  a  sensitive  nature  like 
hers.  Eecovering  herself,  however,  and  thinking  what  a 
strange  customer  she  had  to  deal  with,  she  quietly  responded, 

''  That  is  the  table  at  which  the  members  of  the  Club  sat, 
and  the  old  punch-bowl  from  which  they  drank  is  still  to  the 
fore  in  remembrance  o'  their  meetings.  But  you're  no  in 
earnest,  surely,  in  askin'  me  to  fill  the  bowl  wi'  punch : — 
wha's  to  drink  it  a'  1 " 

"  Your  duty  is  to  obey  "—quickly  retorted  the  stranger, — 
immediately  adding  in  a  kinder,  though  mysterious  tone — 
''  Execute  the  order  and  bring  the  bowl,  for  we  don't  know 
WHO  may  partake  of  its  contents.*' 

Our  hostess,  sadly  puzzled  to  account  for  the  eccentricities 
of  her  guest,  came  to  the  wise  conclusion,  that  it  would  be 
the  safest  way  to  comply  with  his  request,  and  quietly  abide 
the  result. 

Left  alone,  the  stranger  seated  himself  at  the  table,  on  the 
same  chair,  it  might  be,  on  which  he  had  sat,  as  it  was  cer- 
tainly  the  same  position  he  had  occupied,  on  the  last  occasion 
at  which  he  was  present  at  the  meeting  of  the  Club,  on  the 
evening  of  Auld  Tule  forty  long  years  ago.  **  I  have  had 
playmates,"  said  he,  with  Charles  Lamb : — 

<*  I  have  had  plajmates,  I  have  had  oompanions, 
In  my  days  of  childhood,  in  my  jojrful  sohool-days  ; 
AU,  aU  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces. 

"  I  loved  a  love  once,  fairest  among  vromen ; 
Closed  are  her  doors  upon  me — I  must  not  see  her ; 
All,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces. 

'*  Ghost-like  I  paced  roimd  the  haunts  of  my  childhood — 
Earth  seemed  a  desert  I  was  bound  to  traverse, 
Seeking  to  find  the  old  familiar  faces. 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUR  513 

**  Friend  of  my  bosom,  thou  more  than  a  brother  ; 
Why  wert  not  thou  bom  in  my  father  s  dwelling  f 
So  might  we  talk  of  the  old  familiar  faces — 

**  How  some  they  have  died,  and  some  they  have  left  me, 
And  some  are  taken  from  me — all  are  departed — 
All,  all  are  gone — the  old  familiar  faces. " 

The  hostess  now  appeared  with  the  capacious  punch  bowl, 
but  she  had  taken  the  wise  precaution  not  to  fill  it  above  half 
full,  afraid  of  what  the  consequences  might  be  to  herself  were 
her  guest  to  drink  it  all  himself. 

"  You  have  only  brought  one  glass,"  rather  querulously  said 
the  stranger — "be  kind  enough,"  he  continued,  "to  send  up 
other  four." 

"Other  fourl"  repeated  the  hostess,  in  amazement, — 
"  Other  four  glasses ! — when  there's  naebody  T  the  room  but 
yourseP !" 

"  Yes,*'  said  the  stranger — "  other  four  glasses, — ^you  are  not 
aware,  as  I  have  already  said,  who  may  yet  be  present  to- 
night to  assist  me  in  my  orgies ! " 

Our  hostess  looked  more  bewildered  than  ever,  but  still 
acting  upon  the  safe  principle,  that  it  was  better  to  flatter 
fools  than  to  fight  with  them,jshe  instantly  disappeared  to 
obey  the  imperious  behest  of  her  strange  guest. 

Not  choosing  to  entrust  her  servant  with  the  fulfilment  of 
the  message,  she  appeared  in  a  few  seconds  with  the  four 
glasses,  which  she  tremulously  put  down  beside  the  punch- 
bowl, opposite  to  the  chair  on  which  the  stranger  sat 

"  Place  one  glass  before  each  chair, ''  said  the  stranger,  in  a 
still  more  imperious  tone;  which  request  was  no  sooner 
complied  with  by  the  attentive  hostess,  than  the  stranger,  by 
a  dignified  wave  of  the  hand,  dismissed  her  from  his  presence ! 

As  she  retired  from  the  room,  she  cast  another  doubtful 
glance  at  her  guest,  thinking  at  the  same  time,  he  was  cer- 
tainly the  strangest  customer  she  had  ever  had  in  her  life,  and 
wondering  what  the  upshot  of  all  these  mad-cap  manoeuvres 

would  eventually  be  I 

2e 


514       STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

Again  left  alone,  and  having  drank  in  solemn  silence  to 
the  memory  of  those  who  were  gone ;  the  stranger  fell  into 
another  reverie,  still  sadder  and  gloomier  than  the  last ;  for  iii 
sharp,  clear  outlines,  vividly  and  truthfully  defined,  the  whole 
course  of  his  past  life,  like  a  luminous  panorama  of  light 
and  shade,  of  sunshine  and  of  storm,  passed  rapidly  in  revi'ew 
before  him,  and  like  fairy  gossamer  dissolving  views,  as  quickly, 
in  dreamy  indistinctness,  faded  mysteriously  away !     As  the 
summer  sun,  in  lessening  radiance,  lingers  lovingly  on  some 
solitary  mountain-top,   as  if  loth  to  withdraw  from  it   her 
golden  beams,  so  there  was  one  scene  in  his  life,  which,  frescoe- 
like,  stood  out  in  grand  relief  from  all  the  others,  and  on 
which  the  wayward  sun  of  his  destiny,  still  lavished  his  linger- 
ing tints  of  undiminished  glory.     This  cherished  scene  was 
the  last,  and,  in  some  respects,  the  happiest  meeting  of  the 
."  Village  Club, "  at  which  he  had  been  present ;  and  the  reason 
why  it  stood  out  in  such  vivid  distinctness,  could  be  discovered 
in  the  fact,  that  he  had  then,  unconsciously,  prophetically  fore- 
shadowed some  of  the  turning  points  of  his  life,  and  had,  in 
picturing  the  feelings  of  an  imaginary  hero,  given,  by  anticipa- 
tion, expression  to  the  very  feelings  by  which  his  troubled 
mind  was  now  so  poignantly  agitated  : — 

For  in  the  autumn  ripe  of  life, 

The  scenes  that  brightest  shine, 
Within  our  inmost  heart  of  hearts. 

Are  the  days  o*  langsyne  ! 

The  stranger  now  overcome  with  his  emotions,  covered  his 
face  as  of  old,  weeping  long  and  bitterly,  like  one  who  would  not 
be  comforted.  The  flood  of  grief  having  somewhat  expended 
itself,  he  looked  up  again  through  his  blinding  tears,  when  a 
mystical  haze  seemed  to  have  filled  the  room,  so  that  he  could 
not  recognise  the  various  objects  around  with  sufficient  dis- 
tinctness to  enable  him  to  analyse  them  as  before.  The  mist 
grew  denser  as  he  gazed,  but  having  apparently  reached  its 
climax,  it  gradually  dissolved  away, — and  there,  each  seated 
on  his  own  chair,  sat  the  other  members  of  the  Club^  Just  as 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUR  615 

they  had  talked  and  laughed,  and  sung,  and  disputed  forty- 
long  years  ago !  In  the  chair  of  honour,  sat  the  worthy 
President  of  the  Club  in  all  the  panoply  of  state,  conducting 
the  weighty  business  of  the  meeting  with  the  same  pompous 
dignity  as  of  yore.  On  his  right  sat  the  Laird,  on  his  left  the 
Smith :  while  our  jolly  friend  the  Miller,  was  boisterously 
engaged  in  singing  his  favourite  song — "  The  Miller  o'  Dee.  " 
After  the  ringing  applause  which  followed  the  Miller's  song 
had  subsided,  the  chairman  called  for  a  bumper  to  the  good 
health,  long  life,  and  prosperity  of  the  singer,  which  was 
heartily  responded  to  with  all  the  honours,  as  of  old. 

"Hand  in  your  glasses,"  impatiently  demanded  the 
Dominie,  "  for  there  is  a  great  deal  of  work  to  get  through, 
before  we  cau  break  up  for  the  night.  '* 

While  the  glasses  were  being  replenished,  the  Laird  and  the 
Smith  had  drifted  away  into  an  acrimonious  argument  as  to 
the  relative  merits  of  Arminianism  versus  Calvinism,  ending 
as  usual,  in  neither  being  convinced  by  the  luminous  and 
learned  arguments  of  the  other,  very  much  to  the  chagrin  and 
disgust  of  the  stalwart  Smith,  who,  in  his  own  peculiarly 
charitable  way,  imagined  none  so  well  understood  the  bearings 
of  theological  subjects  as  he  did  himself. 

"That's  aye  the  way  wi'  you  twa,"  indignantly  chimed  in 
the  Miller,  "  wranglin'  an  fechtin'  awa  aboot  doctrinal  points 
that  naebody  noo  understands,  or  cares  a  single  flee  aboot. 
But,  my  certe,  if  ance  Patronage  were  abolished, — an'  I  may 
live  to  see  it  sweepit  awa  wi'  the  besom  o*  destruction  yet — 
the  barrier  atween  a'  the  sects  will  be  sae  microscopically  sma' 
that  fouks  will  need  to  search  for  it  as  they  would  for  a  needle 
in  a  wisp  o'  strae  :  ha,  ha,  ha !  An'  the  best  o*  it  a'  will  be, 
that  thae  doctrinal  disputes,  an'  a'  ither  bickerins  aboot  this 
ism  an'  that  ism,  will  never  be  heard  o'  mair,  for  in  the  words 
o'  Scripture — "  The  wolf  shall  dwell  with  the  lamb,  and  the 
leopard  shall  lie  down  with  the  kid ;  and  the  calf  and  the 
young  lion  and  the  fatling  together ;  and  a  little  child  shall 
lead  them. "    Will  that  no  be  so,  Student  ? 


616  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDa 

"  You're  unco  dull  an'  melancholy  the  nicht,  man.  Noo, 
when  youVe  gotten  fame,  if  not  fortune,  I  expecit  ye  wid  ha'e 
been  as  cheery  as  the  liltin'  birdies  o*  your  ain  bonnie  sangs 
wha  sing  as  if  nae  cankerin'  sorrow  or  care  had  ever  rent 
their  little  hearts.  You  see  I  aye  gae  you  the  auld  fjEimiliar 
name,  although  mony  lang  years  hae  flown  by  since  last  ye 
met  your  trusty  cronies  four  at  the  celebration  o'  Auld  Yule 
in  the  bonnie  Howe  o*  Strathmore.  Here's  a  lilt  to  cheer  you 
up  a  bit,  my  boy  :" — sings — 

What  though  the  night  be  stormy, 

*Twill  break  before  the  day, 
What  though  the  day  be  cloudy, 

The  clouds  will  pass  away. 

Come,  let  us  e'er  be  manly. 

Treat  life  not  as  a  toy, 
There's  manliness  in  sorrow. 

There's  manliness  in  joy. 

Pray  ever  calm  contentment 

May  make  its  voice  be  heard, 
And  set  our  heart  a-singing. 

Sweet  like  a  little  bird. 

No  more  unjust  complaining 

Of  ills  we  never  feel, 
All  rousing  now  put  boldly 

Our  shoulder  to  the  wheeL 

Let  him  who  wields  tho  hammer. 

List  music  in  the  sound. 
As  from  the  sturdy  anvil 

The  sparks  fly  thick  around. 

Let  him  who  guides  the  shuttle, 

See  through  the  misty  gloom 
The  dignity  of  labour. 

E'en  at  the  humble  loom. 

And  let  the  pale  mechanic. 

No  cause  see  of  chagrin, 
While  guiding  man*s  invention, 

The  complicate  machine. 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUR  517 

And  happy,  guy  the  miller, 

Aye  merry  may  he  be, 
While  grindiiig  out  the  barley, 

Or  on  the  grassy  lea. 

The  peasant  at  the  ploughshare, 

May  oft  his  heart  upraise, 
As  from  the  woodland  rises 

The  melody  of  praise. 

80  may  the  ship-tost  sea-boy, 

Aloft  upon  the  shrouds, 
Hear  God  aboye  the  thunder, 

And  see  Him  in  the  clouds. 

And  loud  in  voice  angelic, 

Be  heard  the  poet's  song, 
All  cheerful,  hopeful  ever. 

The  joy-notes  to  prolong  ; 

Its  rolling  notes  of  gladness. 

So  pleasant,  yet  so  coy. 
All  heav'n  in  rapture  list'ning 

To  earth's  high  song  of  joy  ! 

"  Well  done,  Miller,*'  exclaimed  the  worthy  Dominie;  "I  like 
volunteered  songs  best,"  he  continued ;  "  they  are  fresher  and 
more  enjoyable  than  the  formally  prepared  musical  effusions 
we  have  had  hitherto,  and  following  the  good  example  of  our 
facetious  friend,  I  will  also  give  you  a  song  from  the  impulsive 
recollections  of  the  moment.  Before  doing  so,  just  allow  me 
one  word  of  explanation.  You  all  know  with  what  intense 
interest  I  continue  to  watch  over  the  future  fortunes  and 
destinies  of  my  "  Laddies ;"  for  they  remain  aye  laddies  to  me 
though  the  golden  hair  of  their  youth  may  be  turned  to  silver 
grey.  Well,  very  lately,  while  enjoying  the  hospitalities  of 
the  happy  home  of  an  old  pupil  on  the  east  coast,  in  whose 
career  I  was  proudly  interested,  my  friend  proposed  an  excur- 
sion to  the  caves  of  Auchmithie.  Delighted  to  be  his  com- 
panion with  such  an  inviting  object  in  view,  I  accompanied 
him  the  next  morning  to  view  these  celebrated  caves,  the 
sight  of  which  more  than  repaid  us  for  the  exertions  of  a  long 


518  STRATHMORB  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

summer  day  in  exploring  their  mystical  recesses.  Beautifully 
grand  and  solemnly  impressive  as  were  the  scenes  through 
which  we  passed,  the  thoughts  of  my  companion  seemed 
nevertheless,  incomprehensibly  to  be  fixed  on  other  objects 
than  those  which  met  his  eye ;  and  a  feeling  of  relief  evidently 
came  over  him  when  we  at  last  rested  on  the  velvet  green 
sward  by  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  castle  of  Eedhead  over- 
looking the  beautiful  bay  of  Lunan.  *  There,'  he  enthusiasti- 
cally exclaimed — 

Is  the  bonnie,  bonnie  bay 
All  bright  with  sea-gemined  sheUs,  and  glistering  sands. 
White  skiffs  light  dancing  o'er  the  sparkling  waves, 
And  coursing  sea-mews,  in  a  giddy  maze 
Of  snowy  whiteness,  'mong  the  golden  clouds  ! 
Dost  thou  remember  of  my  young  heart's  wish — 
To  dwell  through  life  within  that  cozy  manse, 
The  guide,  the  father  of  my  little  flock, 
LuUed  to  sweet  rest  by  murmuring  waves,  awoke 
Each  Sabbath  mom  by  Sabbath  bell's  loved  chimes, 
All  softly  blent  with  music  of  the  sea  ? 

'*  After  this  spontaneous  burst  of  poetic  enthusiasm,  his  soft 
tremulous  voice  blending  pensively  with  the  gentle  ripple  of 
the  tiny  billows  on  the  far  stretching  yellow  sands  beneath, 
he  sang,  as  I  now  sing  to  you — 

The  Bonnie  Bat  o'  Lunan. 

Yonder  bright  the  bay, 

The  bonnie,  bonnie  bay, 

Yonder  bright  the  bay, 

The  bonnie  bay  o'  Lunan  t 
Sparkling  white  with  silver  waves, 
Girt  with  high  wild  rocky  caves, 
Mermaids  sing  o'er  seamen's  graves 
In  the  bonnie  bay  o'  Lunan. 

Yonder  bright  the  bay, 

The  bonnie,  bonnie  bay. 

The  bonnie  bay  o'  Lunan. 

Glist'ring  shine  the  purple  shells, 
Gemmed  with  flowers  the  woody  dells, 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUB.  519 

Softly  chime  the  evehing  bells 
In  the  bonnie  bay  o'  Lunan. 

Crested  white  the  bay, 

Wavelet*8  murmuring  play 

In  the  bonnie  bay  o*  Lunan. 

Wafted  gently  by  the  gale, 
Come  the  boats  with  slaoken'd  sail. 
Hark  !  the  joyous  welcome  : — "  Hail ! 
To  the  bonnie  bay  o'  Lunan  ! " 

Brightly  gleams  the  bay, 

The  bonnie,  bonnie  bay, 

The  bonnie  bay  o*  Lunan. 

Now  the  boats  unload  their  store, 
Creels  lie  piled  along  the  shore ; 
Plenty  reign  for  evermore 
In  the  bonnie  bay  o'  Lunan. 

Lovely  calm  the  bay. 

The  bonnie,  bonnie  bay, 

The  bonnie  bay  o"*  Lunan. 

Hark  !  the  fisher's  jovial  song, 
Wives  and  bairns  tbe  strains  prolong, 
Old  men  shout,  maids  trip  along 
In  the  bonnie  bay  o'  Lunan. 

Sunny  bright  the  bay, 

The  bonnie,  bonnie  bay. 

The  bonnie  bay  o'  Lunan. 

Bright  like  life  the  morning  sky, 
Soft  like  death  the  shadows  lie, 
Sweet  to  live,  how  blest  to  die 
In  the  bonnie  bay  o'  Lunan ! 

Softly  sleeps  the  bay, 

The  bonnie,  bonnie  bay. 

Softly  sleeps  the  bay, 

The  bonnie  bay  o'  Lunan  1 


"Very  good,"  said  the  Laird;  "capital,"  chimed  in  the 
Miller ;  "  excellent,  *'  added  the  Smith,  who  'apparently  bent 
on  winning  new  laurels  in  the  field  of  extempore  effusion, 
immediately  sang  with  more  than  his  accustomed  spirit : — 


520  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS^ 


The  Golden  Oranqs. 

O  sweet  the  golden  orange. 

The  fragrance  of  the  vine. 
And  beautiful  the  nuddens 

Of  sunny  Palestine. 
But  I  like  the  blooming  heather. 

The  odocrr  of  the  pine ; 
My  natiye  land,  I  lore  thee, 

And  people  that  are  thine. 

How  hiscious^  fig  and  pine^apple. 

Bananas  of  the  plain, 
Tlie  fruitage  of  the  palm-date. 

The  vintage  red  of  Spain. 
Bnt  I  like  the  English  apple. 

Strawberries  when  they're  fine. 
And  after  rich  plum-pudding, 

A  cup  of  elder  wine. 

An  grand  the  western  piairiee. 

Where  buffaloes  abound ; 
Or  Afric's  spreading  Tallies, 

Where  zebras  skip  the  ground. 
But  I  like  the  gowan'd  meadows. 

Where  browse  the  udder'd  kine. 
Where  frisk  the  sportire  lammies. 

And  brooklets  sparkKng  shine. 

How  rich  the  note  of  nightingale 

In  balmy  southern  plains. 
And  minstrel  gaUant  serenades 

Of  love-siok  swarthy  swains. 
But  I  like  the  warbling  linnet. 

The  blackbird's  oToning  song. 
And  whisp'rings  soft  of  lowers 

The  haael  bowers  among. 

AH  gorgeous  bright  the  palaces 

By  Indian  sparkling  seas. 
Soft  shaded  by  the  palm-tree, 

Fann'd  by  the  bahny  breeze. 
But  I  like  the  ivy  cottage 

Embower'd  'mong  eglantine. 
With  porch  of  honeysuckle^ 

White  fiow'ring-  jeasamiaew 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUB.  521 

0  fair  the  dark-eyed  damsels 

In  islands  of  the  sun, 
Who  sound  the  lute  and  timbrel, 

Where  silver  waters  run. 
But  I  like  the  Highland  lassies. 

To  me  they're  all  divine, 
Dear  Scotland,  how  I  love  thee, 

And  people  that  are  thine  ! 

Great  applause  followed  the  singing  of  this  song,  the  Miller 
declaring  he  "  didna  gie  a  carl  doddie  for  onything  furrin ;" 
and  as  for  the  ladies,  '^commend  me,"  said  he  with  emphatic 
unction,  ''to  the  dimpled  cheeks,  the  pouting  lips,  and  the 
bonnie  blue  e^en  o'  our  ain  Scotch  winsome  lassies  V* 

"Well,"  quietly  said  the  Laird,  "TU  no  be  behind  ony  o* 
ye  yet  in  singin'  aff  hand  a  gude  Scotch  sang,  but  it  having  of 
late  very  forcibly  struck  me  that  poets  run  too  much  in  one 
groove,  inasmuch  as  they're  aye  lamentin'  o'er  the  love  disap- 
pointments o'  the  lords  o'  creation,  I  vdll  sing  to  you  of  the 
heart-sorrows  of  the  fairer  sex,  viz  : 

The  Forsaken. 

Oh  !  I  can  greet  nae  mair, 

Break,  break  my  heart, 
Twas  very,  very  sair 

From  him  to  part. 
My  ain  dear  Jamie's  gane, 
Noo  I  am  left  alane, 
Yet  ne'er  I'll  sad  complain, 

Though  deep  the  smart. 

His  bonnie  yellow  hair 

Laid  on  my  breast. 
An'  he  sae  passing  fair. 

How  happy,  blest ! 
Anither's  noo  ?  again 

Waft  back  love's  early  strain, 
0  may  its  sweet  refrain 

Lull  me  to  rest. 

Still,  still,  my  heart  is  thine. 

Love  lasts  for  ever, 
Those  heav'n-knit  chords  divine 

Earth  cannot  sever. 


522  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

When  baimies  climb  thy  knee. 
Dear  Jamie,  think  o*  me ; 
Cease  I  to  think  o'  thee  ? 
Never !  Never ! 

"  You  have  sung  tliat  plaintive  lament,  Laird,  with  great 
tenderness  and  feeling, "  responded  the  chairman,  "  and  I  con- 
gratulate you  on  your  success  in  unfolding  that  rather 
neglected  phase  of  love's  too  often  erratic  and  undefinable 
career.  *' 

"  Three  cheers  for  the  Laird, "  exclaimed  the  Miller,  "  an'  if 
he  gaes  on  at  this  rate,  well  need  to  promote  him  by-an -by  to 
the  poet  laureate-ship  of  the  Village  Club :  ha !  ha  !  ha !  Fat 
say  ye  to  that,  Student  ?  yell  need  to  look  to  your  laurels,  my 
boy :  ha  !  ha  !  ha !  Fat  are  ye  a'  starin*  at,  *  my  reverend,  grave, 
and  potent  signiors,'  as  if  there  was  ony  ill  in  takin'  a  gude 
hearty  lauch.  My  certe!  those  who  lauch  langest  will  live 
langest :  ha !  ha !  ha :  Get  out  o'  your  dowy,  absent  mood, 
maister  Student,  an'  wind  up  the  business  o'  the  meetin'  wi* 
something  cheery  an'  grand,  for  do  ye  no  see  thae  midden 
cocks  around  you  are  crawin'  gie  crouse  the  nicht  on  their  ain 
midden  taps." 

The  Student,  apparently  shaking  off  for  the  moment  the 
abstracted  lethargy  in  which  he  had  enveloped  himself  during 
the  greater  part  of  the  evening,  in  the  enjoyment  of  which  he 
seemed  to  have  had  no  share,  in  slow  and  painfully  tremulous 
tones,  thus  addressed  himself  as  if  to  some  unseen,  yet  visibly 
felt  Presence,  which  held  him  spellbound  by  some  mysterious 
power  or  fascinating  charm  : — 

The  Unseen. 

'Twas  on  a  wild  and  gusty  night,  in  winter's  dreary  gloom, 

I  sat  in  meditation  rapt,  within  my  lonesome  room, 

While  like  a  panorama  passed  the  days  of  love's  sweet  joy, 

And  all  youth's  blissful  visions  bright  which  cheered  me  when  a  boy. 

The  winds  let  loose,  mad  shrieking  howled  among  the  leafless  trees, 
Sad  from  the  distance  hollow  came  the  murmur  of  the  seas, 
While  on  the  trembling  window-panes  wild  dashed  the  sobbing  rain, 
Like  a  maiden  by  her  lover  left  in  sorrow  and  in  pain. 


THE  VILLAGE  CLUB.  523 

Clear  high  above  the  blast  arose  like  an  ancient  melody. 
The  silver  tones  of  a  well  known  voice :— '  I  come  my  love  to  thee ; 
My  broken  vows  forgive,  fain  I  would  come  to  thee  for  rest, 
And  pillow  soft  my  weary  head  upon  thy  faithful  breast ! ' 

Like  summer  cloud  across  the  blue,  a  shadow  on  my  soul 
Fell  dark  and  heavily,  but  quick,  it  vanished  like  a  scroll  t 
Yes  !  freely  I  forgave,  forgot,  the  change  she'd  wrought  in  me. 
And  seizing  quick  the  lamp  I  cried — *  I  come  my  love  to  thee  ! ' 

The  door  I  opened  wide,  and  blush'd  to  welcome  to  my  hearth 
Her  to  my  heart  the  dearest  jewel,  most  precious  gem  of  earth  : 
Alas  !  the  flickering  taper  frail,  it  went  out  like  a  spark. 
And  lo  !  all  weeping,  left  me  lone,  faint  crying  in  the  dark — 

'  Beloved  t  0,  beloved,  come,  I  wait  to  welcome  thee  !  * 
But  no  refrain  came  answering  back  save  the  wailing  of  the  sea : 
Yet  still  I  cried — *  Beloved,  come  * — as  if  I'd  cry  my  last, 
Heard  only  by  the  rushing  wind,  mock'd  by  the  stormy  blast ! 

Deserted,  sad,  woes  me  !  return 'd  into  my  widowed  room. 
The  chambers  of  my  soul  hung  round  with  dark  funereal  gloom, 
Loud  on  the  shivering  window-panes  wild  beats  the  sobbing  rain. 
Like  a  lover  by  his  false  one  left  in  sorrow  and  in  pain ! 

The  clock  struck  twelve ;  and  the  dreamy  haze  again 
enshrouded  the  room,  obscuring  its  occupants  from  the  view. 
As  the  mist  cleared  away,  the  stranger  once  more  found 
himself  alone  !  The  glasses  had  been  filled,  but  their 
contents  remained  untouched  ! 

Descending  the  staircase,  he  was  met  in  the  lobby  by  his 
attentive  hostess,  who  kindly  helped  him  to  his  overcoat  and 
muffler,  remarking  at  the  same  time,  that  she  was  very  glad 
to  see  him  looking  so  much  more  cheerful  than  he  had  done 
in  the  earlier  part  of  the  evening. 

"  I  have  done  my  duty,"  kindly  replied  the  stranger — "  and 
when  a  man  feels  he  has  done  his  duty,  he  becomes  naturally 
more  cheerfiil,  inasmuch  as  he  has  fulfilled  his  promises,  and 
discharged  his  obligations  to  the  best  of  his  ability.  My 
obligations  to  you,  as  my  hostess,  I  must  now  discharge  also ; 
and,  while  doing  so,  permit  me  to  thank  you  very  much  for 
your  courtesy  and  kindness  to  me  on  this  ever-to-be-remem- 


524  STRATHMORE  :  ITS  SCENES  AND  LEGENDS. 

bered  evening — I  am  the  LAST  surviving  member  of  the 
Village  Club  ! " 

"  Preserve  us  a',"  exclaimed  our  worthy  hostess;  bat  before 
she  had  time  further  to  express  her  astonishment,  her  strange 
guest  had  disappeared ! 

Stepping  across  the  little  square  in  front  of  the  Inn,  in  the 
direction  of  the  bridge,  a  sweet  soft  voice  saluted  the 
stranger's  ear,  and  turning  round  in  the  direction  whence  the 
sound  proceeded,  he  beheld,  not  an  ominously  croaking  laven 
in  the  air,  but  his  much  valued  friend  and  companion — ^the 
Eeader — who  kindly  expressed  the  wish  that  they  might 
meet  again. 

"In  bidding  you,  for  the  present,  adieu,'*  the  stranger 
feelingly  said,  "  I  have  to  thank  you  sincerely  for  the  great 
patience  and  forbearance  which  you  have  manifested  during 
our  many  wanderings  through  the  Howe  of  Strathmore,  and 
if,  during  the  progress  of  our  explorations  to  the  end  of  our 
journey,  I  have  been  the  humble  means  of  inspiring  you  with 
a  love  of  Nature,  and  of  all  that  is  true  and  beautiful  in 
human  nature ;  if  I  have  ministered  to  your  innocent  amuse- 
ment, or  raised  the  merry  laugh  to  lighten  the  heavy  he4Ut ; 
if  I  have  instilled  into  your  mind  one  affectionate  feeling,  or 
one  holy,  lofty  desire ;  if  I  have  dried  tlie  tear  of  sorrow,  or 
soothed  the  dying  moments  of  the  departing  spirit,  I  shall 
ever  feel  a  grateful  delight  that  my  labours  have  not  been  in 
vain.  Most  cordially  do  I  reciprocate  the  much  appreciated 
wish,  that  we  may — meet  again.      For  the  present,  dear 

Reader 

fare-thee-well." 


I 


TURSTBULL  ASD  8PBAB8,  PBIirrKSS. 


BY  THE   SAME  AUTHOR. 


Crown  Svo,  doth,  St.  (id, 

ROWENA ;  OR,  THE  POET'S  DAUGHTER. 

A  POEM. 

Bev.  George  GilfUlan. 

**  *  Rowena,'  is  on  the  whole,  the  best  of  its  Author's  productions.  There  is 
more  maturity  in  the  thought,  greater  simplicity  in  the  language,  and 
greater  variety  in  the  figures.  The  power  of  the  poem  lies  in  its  many 
excellent  passages.    Besideai,  and  especially,  it  reyeals  yrowtA. 


It 


Sxaminer. 
"  '  Rowena*  is  a  flowing,  graceful  poem." 

Treasuiy  of  Iiiterature. 

"  Mr  Guthrie's  new  poem  'Rowena,'  is  marked  by  all  that  constitutes  a 
true  poet. " 

niuatrated  Midland  News. 

"  '  Rowena'  is  stamped  with  the  mark  of  originality. " 

Sootsman. 

"  Mr  Cargill  Guthrie  in  the  present  volume  exhibits  a  decided  advance  on 
any  he  has  previously  written.  His  views  of  life  and  its  duties,  are  on  the 
whole,  sound  and  healthy,  and  while  they  are  evidently  the  offspring  of  an 
earnest,  amiable,  and  loving  nature,  are,  on  the  other  hand,  entirely  free 
from  mawkish  sentimentalism.  There  are  many  evidences  throughout  the 
poem  of  real  poetic  genius. " 

Dundee  Advertiaer. 

"This  is  probably  the  best  work  Mr  Guthrie  has  yet  published.  The 
object  of  '  Rowena*  is  to  stimulate  her  father  to  do  justice  to  his  genius,  and 
not  to  allow  disappointment  or  want  of  success  to  **  Dim  its  light,  or  damp 
its  holy  flame. "  The  poem  is  a  rich  repertory  of  fine  passages— descriptive 
and  moral — ^nuiny  of  which  are  the  most  finished  in  execution,  and  felicitous 
in  phrase  Mr  Guthrie  has  hitherto  produced. " 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR, 


Dundee  Courier  and  Ars:u8. 

"  Mr  Guthrie's  former  fame  is  well  sustained  in  this  new  poem.  The  great 
truths  enforced  in  '  Rowena, '  our  author  attractively  unfolds  in  language  as 
pure  and  eloquent  as  his  wont,  yet  with  greater  force  and  fire,  and  mors 
exquisite  finish  than  in  any  of  hif«  previous  productions.  *' 

Montrose  Standard. 

"  'Rowena'  is  unmistakably  the  most  powerful  because  the  most  thoughtful 
of  Mr  Guthrie^s  works.  His  style  is  thoroughly  unconventional,  always 
earnest,  often  impassioned,  scattering  with  no  niggard  hand  seed -thoughts 
that  can  hardly  fail  of  producing  good  and  wholesome  fruit  in  days  to 
come. " 


Foolscap  6vo,  clolh,  5«.,  Fifth  Ediiion. 

VILLAGE   SCENES. 

A  POEM. 

Literary  Gazette. 

"  *  Village  Scenes'  has  reached  a  fifth  edition — a  rare  distinction  in  these 
prosaic  days. " 

Sforthem  'Warder. 

**  The  spirit  of  the  whole  poem  is  fine.  It  shows  an  amiable  and  gentle 
being  smit  with  a  passion  for  Nature,  touched  with  a  warm  sympathy  for 
man,  and  uniting  to  these  a  profound  reverence  for  God:  religion— not 
assumed,  but  real — beats  in  every  page  of  the  poem.  " 

Perthshire  Advertiser. 

"  A  fine  vein  of  chastened  and  pensive  thought  runs  through  the  whole, 
and  the  poem  deserves  the  patronage  it  has  so  universally  received. " 

Inverness  Advertiser. 

"  Distinguished  by  genuine  pathos,  and  a  refined  fancy  worthy  of  a  poet. " 


Foolscap  Svo,  cloih^  is.  6d.,  Third  Edition^ 

THE  FIRST  FALSE  STEP. 

A  POEM. 

aire  Commonwealth. 

"The  heroine,  Mary  Hay,  is  a  lovely  character,  as  a  maiden,  a  wife  axx? 
a  mother ;  and  her  vicissitudes  will  start  many  a  tear  before  the  reader  i* 
done. " 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR, 


FooUcap  Bvo^  cloth,  \i.  Second  Edition. 

WEDDED    LOVE. 

A  POEM. 

Iiord  Cookbum  to  the  Author. 
''  Many,  many  passages  I  have  paused  over  and  felt.    Individual  opinion, 
however,  can  be  of  httle  value  to  an  author  who  has  obtained  so   much 
applause  from  the  public  ;—  :here  are  no  laurels  like  numbers  of  editions.  " 


Crown  8vo,  cloth^  &«. 

MY    LOST    LOVE. 

A  POEM. 

Fife  Herald. 
''  Full  of  true  poe£ry,  welling  up  from  a  pure  heart,  and  high  moral  and 
rehgiouB  sentiment. 

Bradford  Observer. 

"  When  Mr  Guthrie  published  his  *  Village  Scenes, '  Lord  Cockbum  and 
other  Edinburgh  critics  hailed  him  as  another  true  Son  of  the  Scotch  muse, 
and  one  worthy  of  enrolment  in  that  glorious  band  of  which  Bums  is  the 
chief,  and  Ramsay,  Ferguson,  Hogg,  and  Cunningham,  and  many  more  of 
immortality,  are  members.  His  new  work  is  such  as  the  public  had  a  right 
to  expect  from  the  author  of  '  Village  Scenes. '  It  abounds  in  graphic 
paintings,  and  in  moralisings  on  things  physical  and  spiritual  which  shew 
the  author  to  be  possessed  of  the  true  poet's  eye,  of  the  insight  and  suscep- 
tibility which  intuitively  reach  the  heart  of  mysteries  that  no  philosophic  key 
can  unlock.  'My  Lost  Love'  deserves  as  much  popularity  as  'Village 
Scenes. ' " 

John  8.  Gibb,  F.E.I.8.,  Bector,  Academy,  Dalkeith. 

"  Mr  Guthrie's  claims  as  a  poet  have  been  recognised  in  the  last  edition  of 
*  The  Poets  and  Poetry  of  Scotland,  from  James  I.  to  the  Present  time  * — 
published  under  the  Editorship  of  the  Rev.  Andrew  R.  Bonar,  Edinburgh — 
which  contains  a  commendatory  notice  of  his  life-long  devotion  to  the  Muses, 
and  various  specimens  of  his  power  as  a  song  writer — *  The  days  o'  Lang- 
syne,'  &o.,  as  'illustrative  of  the  genius  and  spirit  of  those  Scottish  Song 
writers  whose  compositions  have  deservedly  met  with  general  acceptance ; ' 
and  *  of  what  is  purest  and  most  precious  in  our  national  poetic  literature.' " 

People's  JoiumaL 
"Mr  Guthrie's  writings  deserve  to  be  popular  were  it  for  nothing  else 
but  for  the  fine  genial  Christian  spirit  by  which  they  are  pervaded.  The  heart 
that  dictated  the  kindly  sentiments  expressed  in  Mr  Guthrie's  poetry  must 
needs  be  full  of  gentleness  and  love,  and  sympathy  with  all  that  is  good  and 
true  and  beautiful  as  well  in  humanity  as  in  the  material  universe."